Bourbon and Tea
by Zigster
Summary: Two broken souls live on the same street, sharing only a lawn. He barely knows her name, and she judges him by the bottle in his hand. Together, they'll inadvertently help heal each other's wounds. AH/AU Rated M or excessive bourbon consumption.
1. Chapter 1: Not Tonight

A/N: Hello... I did it again. I started another story. *sigh* Can't help it.

No, really. I couldn't. You'll have to either blame or thank Chicklette for this story, depending on how you feel about it once you get on down there and start reading. Her neighbors are the inspiration: One's a cowboy, one's a ho. (The cowboy connection is obvious, but the ho, you ask? Rose.) They both live on either side of her and tend to have fights on her lawn. Doesn't that scream, "fic me!" ???

It does, you know it. Don't lie.

This is a Jasper and Bella tale. Their respective canon spouses are not mentioned for the most part, and their individual circumstances are rather troublesome. Jasper has decided to spend his time wallowing in the bottom of a bottle, while Bella, a somewhat reclusive introvert, attempts to battle her need to help him and not get sucked into another situation where she becomes the victim of an alcoholic. (Her mother was a horrid drunk.)

I realize that doesn't sound like the happiest of stories, but I promise that this is about the two of them inadvertently helping each other exercise their demons, whatever those may be. Plus, it's me, Zigs writing. You know I don't do dark well. I prefer writing happy.

That's enough set up I think. I hope whoever is nice enough to take the time to read this enjoys it. Please give Gallathea hugs and foozling for beta'ing. She's my hero and friend.

* * *

.

.

.

Bella

The lights were out for the night, and the radio's dial had been turned down so that the constant ramble of NPR—my only company—now hummed quietly in the background. The radio sat in the corner, atop the TV I never used, next to the overgrown spider plant that just wouldn't die. Its long leaves spilled over the old television, blocking it from view, a constant reminder that it had fallen into disrepair, along with most of my life.

I preferred it that way. The less I had, the less I had to take care of, stress over, worry about. My mother had filled our home with tchotchkes, knickknacks..._ things_. Frivolous things. They didn't even have names. Dust piled around them, and bugs hid behind their bright colors. My skin would crawl just staring at our crammed book shelves that held anything and everything except books. Still, their presence was an odd comfort back then. They represented her, and their all too obvious absence made hers all the more final.

Nighttime was the hardest. Right after the sun dipped below the horizon, and the inky violet sky took over the calm of dusk, I felt my world close in. I didn't have the vibrant colors of my home surrounding me, nor my mother's effervescent, if not addictive, personality. I had my bungalow. Small, simple, and sad. The _things_ in my new world consisted of the radio, the spider plant, my goldfish Loretta, and the sole remaining possession of my mother's that I dared to keep: her guitar.

Her guitar was like her. The curves of its body mirrored her own, and the mother of pearl inlays along the neck reflected the light and added whimsy to the dark wood, much like my mother would add to any room. It was also imperfect, like she was. There were a few dings along the sides and scratches on the underbelly—the effects of her belt moving against it as she played.

I could feel those scratches now, as the weight of the guitar pressed into the soft skin of my stomach where my tank had ridden up. Their existence helped me to remember the little things more clearly, and those were exactly the details I wanted to hold onto when I tortured myself like this. I closed my eyes and let my head fall back against the couch, exhausted but unable to sleep. Inadvertently, I started to strum.

_Jolene, Jolene... Jolene, Jo-lene... I'm begging of you, please don't take my man. _

I sang softly into the dark, melancholy and sweet, letting my fingers pluck and strum the chords to one of my mother's favorite songs. I didn't get very far... I heard the unmistakable sound of my neighbor's screen door slamming shut before I even reached the second line.

"Shit," I cursed into the disrupted quiet. "Not again." I slapped my hand against the strings, silencing their soothing hum.

"Jasper!" Rose shouted into the night, oblivious to any other living organism except herself, and her cock of the week, or month in this case.

"Jasper!!" she called again, her voice closer now, shriller. She was on my front lawn. Dammit.

I opened my eyes and laid my mother's guitar gently at my side on the couch cushions before I crept towards the front window on all fours. I was going for stealth, but I probably just looked like a fool. Random perk of living by yourself: you can pretend to act like a ninja and no one will know. Then again, the real reason for my behavior was probably a mixture of paranoia and lack of sleep.

When I reached the window, I opted for staying inconspicuous and peeked out from the bottom of the sheers, as opposed to just throwing open the curtains in a fit of frustration like I wanted to. The sparring match would be their fifth in the past month. This shit was getting old.

"JASPER!" Rose bellowed one last time.

Finally, the screen door belonging to my other next door neighbor was pushed open with extra force, its hinges squeaking in protest before it slammed itself shut in defiance.

Silence. Save for the crickets and the drone of NPR in the background, there was one full minute of dead silence...

Of course, it didn't last. "Woman," I heard Jasper grumble in a tone one step up from passive.

"Jasper." Rose sounded saccharine sweet. "So good of you to come say hi."

"You were screaming down my door, not to mention Bella's." I cringed at the sound of my name. I didn't approve of his behavior; he didn't get to worry about my door, or whoever the hell was screeching down it.

Rose was nonplussed. "You didn't answer my calls."

"I turned off my phone."

"Why?"

"It was ringing off the hook. Harshed my buzz."

"Then you should have picked it up!"

"Obviously you can't take a hint; I'm trying to be subtle here."

"Fuck subtle, Jas."

"You don't get to call me that!" he shouted, his calm demeanor finally slipping. It was rare for Jasper to raise his voice above much more than a commanding tone in these fights. Rose stumbled on her next retort.

"Then, then... why... come see me again, dammit!"

"No." His voice was barely above a whisper, yet still audible.

"Yes!" Rose screamed, desperate and wanting. It was pathetic.

"No, Rose, I made a mistake."

"The hell you did! I could have any guy I want. LOOK at this body!"

"I have."

"Well?"

"No, Rose. Go sleep."

"Come with me," she purred, switching gears from bitch to seductress.

"No."

Rose screamed then, feral and unnatural. I heard, rather than saw, the thumping of weight on wet grass and knew she was about to pounce. These altercations always ended in the same way, with Rose literally throwing herself at Jasper. She was that fucking desperate for attention that physical fights were now enough to get her off.

It disgusted me.

It was very rare for me to actually reach a point where I despised a situation or person enough to hate them, but right then, I hated it all. I hated Jasper's slurred speech and Rose's shrill whines. Her desperation and his resigned attitude. Most of all, I hated... _hated_ when Rose would try and fight-fuck Jasper on my front lawn. That's just plain rude.

Tossing stealth aside, I opened the curtains all the way, amazed at the crazy occurring right in front of me. Rose was on top of Jasper, having successfully tackled him to the ground—his drunken state no doubt aiding her cause. She was attempting to unfasten his obnoxiously large belt buckle, while he, in turn, was trying to secure her hands at her sides. Her red nails dug into his skin with malicious intent, and he hissed. This seemed to excite her further as she threw her head back with a triumphant cackle into the night, and my stomach churned. My body officially voiced what my brain couldn't seem to process fast enough: I was done. This twisted freak show would not be taking place on my doorstep any longer if I could help it. Fuck no.

"Ugh!" I huffed as I got to my feet and stomped towards the door, psyching myself up. I had to, or I'd never grow the pair I so badly needed to do what I wanted to do next...

Which was throw open the door, grab the garden hose off the front porch, and spray the ever-living shit out of the assholes on my front lawn.

"Ahhh!" I shouted the entire time I squeezed the nozzle, reveling in the catharsis it gave me.

"The fuck!" Jasper choked, while Rose screeched, springing off of Jasper and darting back towards her own front porch—thank Christ—as her mascara ran, and the joke of a nightie she had been wearing clung to her body in a pathetic way.

"You bitch!" she screamed, before scrambling back into her own damn house. I smiled at her reaction and offhandedly wondered if she'd melt from the water like her big-screen counterpart, but knew that deep down, that was probably just wishful thinking.

After she left, I released the nozzle and let the hose fall at my feet. I glared at Jasper as he wiped the water from his eyes and the hair out of his face, cursing him for looking that good while being drunk and disorderly on my property. And just cursing him in general for being my neighbor in the first place. I didn't like living so close to someone like him—someone who was so cavalier with his own life.

Jasper tried to escape whatever pain was chasing him through whiskey, it seemed, and I despised on principle anyone who'd hide behind a bottle rather than seek help. It was a stigma I'd unfortunately developed while living with my mother. She'd lost her battle with the bottle, and I didn't want to watch anyone else waste away, like she had, again. Yet, here I was, staring down my alcoholic neighbor, who was looking like a Calvin Klein clad drowned rat on my lawn.

His black tank had been ripped by Rose's talons, and his jeans were soaked through. They clung to his legs, enhancing the lean muscles beneath the denim, and I stared for a bit too long at the effect it had caused. Shit.

He was leaning on his elbows in the grass, trying to catch his breath. His chest heaved from having taken on his attacker, and his wet skin prickled from the chill of the night air. Clearly, I was paying him too much attention if I could see the goosebumps on his arms. I shook my head, wanting to tear my eyes away from his form, but suddenly his eyes locked with mine, and I was trapped. I realized then that his breathing mirrored my own.

I begrudgingly allowed the staring contest to last for the time it took me to steel my nerves. With a final deep breath I tore my eyes away from Jasper's, turned on my heel and ran inside. I slammed the door shut behind me, only to spin around and peer back out the window at Jasper, still sprawled on the lawn. He was staring at where I'd been standing on the porch; he looked stunned.

_Good_, I thought. Maybe next time he'll decide to keep his dick in check, and save us all a whole lot of trouble. Damn, cocky bastard.

.

.

.

* * *

A/N: There now, the first installment of my first ever multi-chapter Twi fic.

Did we like? Hope so.

I have about ten chapters already written, so I'm pretty sure I'll be able to post updates weekly. I'm thinking sundays. Those of you who know my lazy ass style of updating should find that refreshing. I hope. lol.

I have to give love to the girls who encouraged this story and urged me on when I teased pieces of it in WCs or discussed the plot on gchat. :-) *foozles to y'all*

Thank you again for reading.

~Zigs


	2. Chapter 2: Gnome Vengeance

A/N: Okay, I couldn't wait. I had to post this early. I wanted to post it pretty much the second after I put up chapter one, but Chicklette stopped me. I whined. She gave in and let me post today, but from now on, I'm only allowed to update on Sundays. *sigh* So, now y'all know.

Pre-read by Chick, beta'd by Riri. *hugs to her girls* Thank you.

Enjoy!

* * *

.

.

.

Jasper

I shook the water from my hair the way a dog would his fur. The spray had unfortunately done wonders for shocking me into some sort of pseudo-sober state, but my brain was still muddled with confusion as it tried to process what I'd just seen.

Bella stepping outside of her sanctuary.

Bella normally never ventured out of her home, unless it was absolutely necessary. The only time I'd see her leave was to take out the garbage, or to sign for the boxes of groceries from the fancy ass, organic, free range, free trade, granola, hippie-fuck-fresh food store that would deliver her sustenance every week. And even then, that was only the front porch.

I'd heard around town bits and pieces of information about Bella--it's how I'd found out her name in the first place. Not that I was deliberately sniffin' for it, or anything. Her father being the police chief unfortunately meant that his oddball daughter's personal life was ripe pickins for public speculation. I didn't condone the gossip, I just happened to overhear it.

Apparently, she was a grad student on sabbatical. She was supposed to be using her stipend to go soak up the haughtiness of Europe, but instead, used the measly amount of monthly cash to fund her hermit-like existence. I didn't even think grad students could be granted a sabbatical, but again, it was just a rumor. She could be doing an independent study, or living off of grants. Maybe her father supported her?

I shook my head again and fell back onto the wet grass, emotionally exhausted. Why the hell was I trying to figure out the eccentricities of my neighbor with more than a half a bottle of Jack in my stomach? Oh, right, she'd sprayed me with the hose, like I was some stray growling at her garden gnomes, of which she had three...all given to her by the chief.

I turned my head to focus on the one closest to me, and it fucking glared at me as if it were offended. Or maybe I was just being paranoid? That posed another bitch of a problem. If I was sober enough to be paranoid then I was too sober. Period.

Shoving myself off the ground, I stomped over towards the gnome, which still somehow managed to glare up at me even though I had about five feet on the fucker, and its pupils were supposed to be fixed into the plaster. I had already lost my tempter once this evening, and yet, I had an irrational urge to kick the gnome in the face. Violence, however, never appealed to me as a way of venting frustrations, and kicking a plaster lawn ornament with bare feet probably would just harsh my non-buzz further by giving me a stubbed toe. So, I did the next best thing: I slopped up the few, short steps of Bella's porch and knocked on the door.

No answer.

I knocked again.

Still, no answer.

That's when it finally hit me that I probably wasn't _too_ sober, or sober at all, because I started talking at Bella through the door like a rude coon dog.

"I understand the hose usage, I just wanted to say that I'm not a fan, but I understand. That, and your gnome is giving me the stink eye..." I scratched the back of my head as I spoke to her blue front door. Why the hell was I talking about the gnome? Why was I talking in the first place? And why was I being so damn loud? Dropping my voice and lowering my head with an exasperated sigh, I confessed. "I'm sorry Bella."

Having decided that I sufficiently used up my nonexistent amount of welcome for the evening, I turned around and attempted to head back to my own home to fall into a dehydrated stupor on the couch. That plan, however, did not involve me tripping up on my wet pant legs, and falling backward before hitting something very hard and blunt. No, I dare say that was not my plan.

. . .

Someone named Terry Gross was speaking to me. I grimaced at the sound and turned away from her rudely, hoping she'd stop. Her voice wasn't grating, but it didn't do much for my headache either. Turning over, however, caused an obscene amount of light to filter into my closed eyelids and I rolled back, deciding Terry was the lesser of two evils.

It was then that I realized I was lying down on something that was not my couch and most definitely not my bed. Petrified that Rose somehow found a way to get me into her hellmouth of a home, I shot straight up, like a persistent boner on a hot day, and scanned my surroundings.

I was still on Bella's porch. Shit, I was_ still_ on her porch?

I felt a breeze drift by, interrupting my confusion, and looked down, only to realize that I was nude, save my boxers. Thankfully I had remembered to wear underwear yesterday, which was a rare occurrence considering laundry wasn't high on my list of priorities. My legs were tangled up in a heavy sheet, and my bed for the night had apparently been an air mattress. The woman named Terry, who I thought was talking to me earlier wasn't actually conversing with me, but giving me the morning news on the radio, and the light that had managed to almost burn my retinas from behind my eyelids wasn't an over zealous bedside lamp, but the sun, blazing low above the ocean. It was early, the sun had probably risen only an hour ago, and I was awake to witness it. Fuck.

A small coughing sound caught my attention and I turned my head in the direction of the noise. Bella was perched on the edge of an old porch swing hanging on the other side of the porch. I was surprised by her presence and felt foolish for not noticing her sooner. There was a cup of something steaming in her hand, and her eyes were large with alarm. She looked like a scared little mouse. I would have asked her what was wrong if I didn't have to bolt to the railing and double over the side to purge my stomach of its contents.

Oh, I'm nothing but a class act today, I thought. My grandparents would have boiled over their sweet tea at my lack of decorum, considering all they'd done to teach me manners and how to be a gentleman. Gram would have whooped me good if she could see me, and I wouldn't blame her in the slightest.

Slumping my wasted body over the railing, I dared a look back at Bella, still perched, small as ever on the swing with her steaming mug and large brown, worried eyes. I wanted to smile and shrug my shoulders as if to say, "ain't mondays a bitch?" but my stomach flipped and my smirk turned into a Linda Blair face faster than I could blink.

When I raised my head a second time, Bella was gone. Only the frantic rocking of the swing remained; proof that she had actually been there in the first place, and that I wasn't losing my mind. With a defeated sigh and a swipe at my mouth with the back of my clammy hand, I collapsed against the porch railing, exhausted. I felt numb and yet my body raged at me for being so alert, so awake and aware. I needed to get home, but I didn't want to leave.

Closing my eyes, I decided to fight my selfish need for a drink and stayed there on her porch, staving off the nausea. It was mind over matter; I knew I could do it. Besides, I didn't think I could stand.

"Here," a small voice whispered above me. I opened one eye, and managed a half smile. She'd come back.

"Thanks," I rasped out, my throat raw, as I took the steaming cup she had handed to me.

"It's ginger tea, with honey. The tea will help your stomach, the honey will help your throat."

Her voice was soft but clipped. Her jaw was set as she spoke, and a wave of guilt overcame me, clouding the nausea.

"Bella," I touched her arm, "I'm sorry," I tried to say but she flinched away from my hand and my guilt deepened. This quiet girl had taken care of me, and what did I do? I puked on her lawn. I might have hit a gnome, too. Shit.

Bella gave me a stiff nod before resuming her perch on the swing, where she took a tentative sip of her tea, as if to show me how it was done. I raised my cup to her in thanks before I lifted it to my own lips and sipped. It was bitter and the smell was pungent, save for the honey, but I held in the grimace.

Several silent and agonizing minutes passed in which Bella stared at me from her perch, looking like fucking Bambi crossed with an owl, while I tried to politely sip my tea. The hole I had dug for myself last night and this morning was deep enough, I didn't want to add to it by not accepting her unexpected hospitality.

_Say something Jasper_, I told myself.

_Something. _

_Anything... _

_Anything at all... _

_Bueller? Bueller? _

My silence was beginning to border on pathetic, yet I couldn't think of anything to say that would be appropriate: 'Sorry for that random bout of narcolepsy I displayed last night,' or, 'I didn't mean to pull a Linda Blair on your porch, forgive me?', didn't seem quite like the right kind of sentiment. I wasn't known for my lengthy conversational skills; I preferred to listen and take in, as opposed to running my mouth, however, this was most definitely a time to give something more than just a weak smile. Bella had done a lot for me--things that weren't deserved by any means--and all I had managed to get out was a two word apology that she flinched away from.

If I had had a few drinks in me, this shit would have been easy as pie. I would be smooth and charming, and would probably be able to get away with my projectile vomiting using a series of carefully executed smirks--after the fact, of course. But no, I was sober, shaky from the lack of booze, or ironically enough, shaky from the dehydration the booze caused me, and I needed a fucking Advil... or seven.

Suddenly, edgier than I'd ever fully admit to myself, I shot up, needing to get away from Bella's eager and honest eyes. She was quiet and prying at the same time. How the fuck did she manage that?

"Thank you for the tea," I rasped, my throat still raw. "And the bed," I added, gesturing to the inflatable mattress behind me akwardly. Bella merely nodded in response.

"Really, Bella, I'm sorry for last night. Rose..." I grimaced at the name, shooting my eyes in the direction of the harpy's abode, "...she's operating under a skewed sense of morals."

My throat hurt too much to expand and I turned, not wanting to leave necessarily, but more than anything, wanting to get away from Bella's inquisitive stare.

She didn't say anything as I tried my best not to stumble down her steps, save for a small, "oh" that was barely audible. I might have imagined it, actually.

When I walked past the mess I had made in her garden, I hesitated, realizing that I did in fact manage to coat the leery gnome in vomit. Ugh. I couldn't help but feel slightly vindicated at the sight, but I also noticed the damage I had done elsewhere in her garden and frowned. Shit. I had left quiet a wake.

I turned to apologize once again, only to see Bella standing, diminutive yet firm, with the hose in her hands; the nozzle pointed in my direction. Instinctively, I threw my hands up in the air. Bella's facial expression changed only slightly at my reaction. She gave me the tiniest smirk before she held her finger down and let the hose erupt.

It didn't hit me, it hit the gnome. Thank Christ. I tried my best to hide the smile of satisfaction at seeing the little fucker get watered down.

Realization dawned on me fucking ages after the fact: she was hosing down the mess, not me. Guess all those brain cells I'd been killing every night for the better part of a year were starting to add up since I couldn't even put two simple things together in my head when they were staring me in the puss.

Relieved, despite being disoriented, I sighed and turned while Bella's aim was occupied elsewhere, and retreated back to my house like a coward.

It wasn't until till seven that night, when I turned on Jeopardy for some background noise, did the need for my inebriation hit me. I had slept most of the day, and continued to drink, but only hydrating fluids, not the opposite. That was rather backwards for me, but I knew my limits, and when to let my body rest. Still, as Alex Trebeck introduced the contestants to his live studio audience, I poured.

My body had rested enough.

As I tilted my head back, allowing the smooth sting of the whiskey to coat my destroyed throat, I forced the sight of Bella and her Bambi-like eyes out of my head. They didn't let me enjoy the burn the alcohol brought me, and that was all I wanted right then...to enjoy the slow burn.

With a curse, I put down the lowball and stared at the TV, not really seeing it. The next time I reached for the whiskey, it was to take a swig out of the bottle, not the glass. The sight of it perspiring on my coffee table made me feel guilty, but the heavy feel of the bottleneck in my hand just deadened my senses like it was supposed to. Like I wanted it to.

Like I needed.

.

.

.

* * *

A/N: When I write Bella, I tend to sing Joni Mitchell songs. With Jasper, it's Jack White.

While writing this chapter? Johnny Cash.

What's with all the J's?

Thanks for reading,

~Zigs


	3. Chapter 3: A Neighborly Compulsion

A/N: It's sunday! I get to update! Woot!

Beta'd by Riri, who put up with my excessive ellipsis usage in this chapter and all the extra spaces I left after the fact. *foozles* Thank you, bb.

I hope you enjoy what's below with your morning jo. Crap, I'm rhyming. *runs away*

* * *

.

.

.

Stupid old beach bungalow.

Who decided that putting the bedroom in the front of the house was a good idea? It's a freaking horrible idea. You hear everything going on in the street...or in this case, the front yard.

Last night the world was blissfully quiet. The only noise that pierced the darkness of my home were the random and sporadic motorcyclists driving by, but they came with the territory, so I learned to deal. Every beach culture had a variety of staple stereotypes. My town was no exception.

Despite the peace of the previous evening, I woke up to the sounds of oddly rhythmic swishes, bangs and thuds. Not to mention, whistling? Either my gnomes had actually come to life and were tap dancing in a fairy ring outside my window, or someone was on my lawn...again.

I groaned and threw back the covers, incensed, and in bad need of coffee. Or tea. Anything caffeinated would do, really.

Padding over to the window I peered out, craning my neck in hopes of catching the devious little gnomes in the act. No such luck. I couldn't see anything along the left hand side of my yard, and my front porch obscured the right side of my property.

"Dammit," I cursed to myself. I was going to have to throw on some clothes and head outside. Not the ideal way for me to start my Saturday.

I quickly dressed in whatever I could find within arms reach--a pair of yoga pants, hoodie and my Uggs--before trudging to the front door, huffing and pushing my bed-head hair out of my face the entire way.

Yanking the door open in an exasperated grunt, I immediately scanned the perimeter for enemy gnome combatants. There were none.

That shouldn't have disappointed me as much as it did.

Despite the lack of frolicking folklore in my front yard, there was, however, a bare, glistening back, hunched over with its accompanying head bobbing up and down just below the porch's edge. For a moment, I was stunned. Taut muscles strained and pulled as sinewy, coltish arms vibrated under the exertion of the movement--all covered with a light sheen of sweat, and all put on display before me in the glow of the early morning sun.

"What the hell?" I couldn't help but say, though, it came out in a rasp of a whisper.

Despite my momentary lapse of concentration, I had to wonder in all seriousness, who and what this person was doing, and why were they doing it so...half clothed? My shaky morning legs wobbled and collapsed into an Adirondack chair next to the door without me even realizing it, and I curled myself up into a ball to contemplate my next move.

_I think that's Jasper_, I pondered to myself, taking in the wisps of dirty blonde waves twisting and blowing in the light breeze. His hair was darker than normal, damp from the sweat. But why was Jasper bobbing up and down in my shrub patch? Was he sick again? Did he feel like coming back to some place familiar to projectile vomit? I wouldn't put it past him, though, I did think he had more manners than that.

Leaning forward in my chair to get a better look, I slipped and landed with a loud thud on the deck. Jasper's head snapped up instantly at the disturbance and his light, stormy eyes darted around in haste to find the origin of the noise. When they fell on me, I probably blushed the color of a maraschino cherry, my body spiked with so much heat. I was a mess of tangled and twisted limbs, the hood of my sweatshirt half covered my face, and one of my Uggs had come partially off, giving my left foot the illusion that it was snapped in the wrong direction. In short, I looked awful, and wanted to crawl into a hole and hide.

While I was crawling away on all fours to go and do just that, Jasper appeared at my side, his hands hovering above me as if he were scared to touch me but was seriously considering it, damned the consequences. I wished that he wouldn't.

"Bella?" His voice held a slight hint of alarm and there was a crease in his forehead between his darkening eyes. If didn't know any better I'd say that he looked worried.

"Yes?" I asked. "What, Jasper? Don't you wake up every morning by falling down on your front porch?" I was being sarcastic, but I couldn't help wonder.

"More than I'd like to admit," he joked, smirking at me with his easy charm. I detested that smirk. That simple smile that made everything seem so unimportant. Like the fact that his breath held the scent of sweet caramel and spice with a bite behind it: Bourbon. It wasn't even ten o'clock and he'd had a drink, even after having gotten sick the previous day. How could he smirk at me with such nonchalance? I cursed him and the very air he breathed for being so cavalier with his life.

Grimacing at his attempt to be friendly, I turned and tried to stand up on my own. My stupid Ugg made me lose my balance again and strong, sinewy arms wrapped their way around my waist without my consent. I fell backwards into a hard chest that reverberated with a deep chuckle as my arms flailed on either side of me.

"Whoa there," Jasper breathed, holding me to his body. For a few awkward seconds I tried to rearrange my limbs into something resembling the normal stance of a human being and then tentatively put my weight on my unsteady feet. Jasper guided my movements, keeping contact with me for way too long. I wasn't comfortable with his lack of personal boundaries. I had plenty, he it seemed, had none.

"Thank you," I said, my voice tight, before I removed myself from his grasp. An uneasy silence followed were I shifted my stupid feet and Jasper scratched the back of his neck.

After about ten rather painful seconds, I cleared my throat and reluctantly spoke up, "Jasper...umm, what are you doing here?"

His eyes widened with excitement, "Oh! Yes. I was...well, I was..." he faltered and clasped his hands behind his back before walking over to the edge of the porch and pointing down towards where I had seen him not five minutes earlier. He looked back up at me, his eyebrow raising in invitation, and I hesitantly inched forward. What was he getting at?

Looking down over the porch railing, I saw what he was so excited about. My pitiful garden had been completely replanted. Well, not completely; there was a small section on the far right-hand side that was still an uprooted pile of sandy dirt, but the rest looked lovely. It was filled with lavender, something my Gran would have called "Witch's fingers," and lined along the grass with what looked like mint or basil leaves.

"You've been fooling around in my shrub patch?" I asked, astonished, realizing a bit too late that that sounded rather odd, and somewhat innuendo laden. Dang, I needed coffee.

Jasper's easy laugh flowed freely out of him before he stilled, catching onto the fact that I wasn't making a joke. "Sorry," he said, "I just wanted to fix the damage I had done." His expression was cautious, anticipatory. He was waiting for me to give him the go-ahead, which I did, with a very small nod and a smile.

His face lit up like a christmas tree as he practically bounded down the stairs to continue--a little child excited because his mother told him he could keep playing outside after dinner. I was slightly taken aback at all his enthusiasm. How could he be inebriated and have that much energy? My mother was never fast-paced when she drank. Slow and steady with a glint to her eye..._that_ was my mother.

Feeling out of place on my own damn front porch, I rocked on my heels for about ten seconds before making a decision. If Jasper was going to be cordial and polite, so was I.

"Would you like a drink?" I asked, then grimaced. _Please don't say whiskey, please don't say whiskey,_ I repeated silently to myself.

Jasper, in turn, made a strange face before his smirk replaced itself, "I'd love one. What do you have?"

"Umm," I hesitated, taking mental inventory of the pitiful state of my fridge and its contents. "Sweet tea?"

"No kiddin'. You got sweet tea all the way up here?"

"Grew up drinking it at a friend's house. It reminds me of them so I always keep it around..." I explained, trailing off and playing with the zipper of my hoodie, feeling as if I'd shared too much.

"Sounds perfect." Jasper's smile was contagious, but I managed to keep my face impassive as I gave him a nod and headed back into the house.

Once inside, I started to hyperventilate. Literally. Pacing in a circle around my sofa in desperate need of a brown paper bag, I kept my hands on my hips and tried to control my breathing to no avail.

I didn't want Jasper working on my garden.

I didn't want Jasper anywhere near me.

I didn't want to know him, period.

So why on earth was I supposedly getting him sweet tea so that he could continue working? And why was I thinking that he should probably put some sunblock on before that pale skin of his got burned?

"Ugh!" I threw my hands in up in the air. I hated the compulsions I constantly had that involved worrying about people. Worrying about people was a dangerous thing, because then you ended up taking care of them, and they, in return, ended up leeching off of you until you were nothing more than a bloodless sack of skin.

I wouldn't allow myself to be taken advantage of. No, I did _not_ want that to happen again.

Shit, but I couldn't just leave the boy outside. I stomped my foot like a petulant child, then winced cause that shit hurt.

With a resigned sigh, I walked into the kitchen and pulled out the pitcher of ever present sweet tea from my fridge, giving it a small smile of recognition. Billy Black had loved sweet tea. Taking in its clean, sugary scent, I let myself remember all the times I sat at his small kitchen table with a glass of it in my hands, while he told me stories to take my mind off the horrors of my home life. He was a sweet man, more a father to me than my own, which wasn't really a fair statement since I hadn't know my father existed until I was 18. Still, I mourned Billy's death more than I ever had my mother's. Christ, I was a horrible person.

Pouring a tall glass high with ice and tea, I turned from the counter and walked back outside to the porch and handed it to Jasper. Our fingers touched as the glass changed hands and I took in a breath of utter defeat.

Jasper was being neighborly and kind, and I was returning the favor, knowing it was the equivalent to giving a small, helpless animal a piece of cheese or bread. This wouldn't be the last time he'd show up at my door, and I knew then, instinctively, that I wouldn't turn him away the next time he did.

Fuck.

.

.

.

* * *

A/N: Bella just can't help herself. She's gotta take care of the boy. *sigh* What a pity.

I wonder if, while I wasn't looking, she went and rubbed sunblock all over the boy's back? hmm... something to ponder.

~Zigs


	4. Chapter 4: And We All Fall Down

A/N: Hello there. I'm here a day early, because tomorrow I will be outta town, sitting on the hard metal seat of some random stadium to watch my cousin graduate. Oh goodie.

Anywho, y'all luck out, cause I'm handing you the Jasper chapter early. Hope you enjoy.

Beta'd by Riri. You're a peach, bb. *foozles*

* * *

.

.

.

Bella was cautious around me for the rest of the day while I worked on her garden, despite her refilling my glass with fresh sweet tea several times. I had made sure to ask her permission to rearrange the gnomes so that they now all hung out together on the left-hand side of her property, away from my view when I was on my own porch. Those little fuckers still creeped me out, but I did take enjoyment out of facing one--Mr. O'Leery; that's right, I named the one I'd puked on--so that he glared at Rose's porch. I patted the little fella on his pointy red hat and smiled. "Good boy."

I knew Officer Krupke brought Bella those silly gnomes each time he came to visit, since in the two times I'd seen the Cruiser outside her house, a new gnome had shown up with it. Still, that posed the question, why the hell had this girl's father only been to see her four times in God knows how long? It made me wonder about the state of their relationship, but I never delved too deep into that quandary. It wasn't any of my business, plain and simple.

Maybe these were her favorite of the horde, and the rest of the red-hatted freaky fellers were all stored away in a musty, old cardboard box somewhere in the attic? Poor things.

_None. Of. Your. Business. Jasper. _

Right. Moving on.

When all was said and done, Bella's garden was very impressive indeed, and I cheekily shined my nails on the non-existent lapels of my non-existent shirt. Bella rolled her eyes at my antics and I smiled all the more for seeing the little bits of her personality that she'd allow to slip through the cracks of her quiet demeanor.

I thanked her for the tea and the bagel she had offered me throughout the day. She'd put cream cheese and chopped up peppers on the bagel, a combination I had never considered, but something I enjoyed and scarfed down happily, nonetheless. I told her as much through a mouth full of cheesy, crunchy goodness and was rewarded with a small, half-smile.

Seeing that little smirk cross her face should not have filled me with such satisfaction, but it did.

Bella had stayed on the porch, perched on her swing, the entire time I worked outside. She kept the radio tuned to NPR and sipped hot cups of tea or coffee while switching her focus from staring out at the ocean across the street to watching me in the flower beds. I tried not to smirk or smile at her too much and focused only on the work at hand. She did not attempt to make conversation and I knew that she was merely keeping tabs on my whereabouts as opposed to actually keeping me company while I worked. I was okay with that; I didn't deserve her hospitality or her quiet presence. She was being more than generous, and I could sense that even she thought so.

Still, it made me wonder why she was doing it in the first place. She didn't have to refill my glass, nor did she have to make me a meal or ask if I needed sunscreen. Yet, she did. She was a curious creature; a contradiction.

"Thank you, Jasper," she spoke quietly from the porch swing when I had thrown the last black-plastic carton that had held the bunches of mint into the garbage, and wiped my hands clean on my dirt-caked jeans.

"You're welcome..." I said, trailing off before adding some kind of endearment that she would no doubt not take too kindly to. "My pleasure," I added for the hell of it with an easy smile, "and I really do apologize for the, well, the shit before." I twirled my hand through the air, suggesting the past with the movement, and Bella nodded. I gave her a terse nod back before saluting like an idiot and turning on my heel to head home.

Walking awkwardly up my porch steps I allowed myself one last look back towards Bella's house, only to see her reaching for the screen door handle at the same time I did. We shared a moment of amusement before walking into our respective homes for the night with a cautious smile.

. . .

It was two full weeks before I spotted Bella again outside. She'd always been good at keeping to the confines of her small bungalow, but I'd never before tried to seek her out as much as I had since I'd fixed up her garden.

I'd taken to tending to the plants when I was bored as an excuse to try and see her. I could hear the sounds of NPR drifting through her open windows, but didn't see any signs of life inside the house. Then again, I didn't try to look too hard, I didn't want to seem like a stalker or anything.

That would be weird.

_Yes, Jasper, cause your behavior up till now has been nothing but a _Donna Reed Show_ rerun's worth of normal. _

_Third person, Jasper? Really?_

_Again. _Really?

_And what the fuck is with that Donna Reed reference? 50's much?_

Christ, I had too much time on my hands.

There was also the unfortunate side effect of whenever I showed my face on Bella's property, Rose would somehow appear. I wish that woman wold get a fucking job already. I'm sure she needed the money, and I certainly needed the goddamn peace.

It was a Sunday evening when Rose actually dared to step onto Bella's property again as I watered down the lavender bushes on the left hand side of her house. I turned the hose nozzle to spray at Rose's pink toe-nailed feet and she jumped back and hissed like a cat that'd gotten splashed.

"Jasper, manners!" she scolded. I snorted, which was a stupid idea since it only encouraged her.

"I've missed you, Jasper," she purred, and I once again turned the nozzle her way, keeping her back as if taming a lioness. The second time around wasn't as effective since she shot back with a, "you always did know how to make me wet," and I had to hold back the bile in my throat. Even the hose nozzle went limp. If she wasn't a cautionary tale to not attempt to drink a full bottle of Knob Creek, I don't know what was, because having stooped low enough to have slept with her--twice--was probably one of the biggest mistakes of my adult life.

"I'm not gonna fight with you, Rose."

"Who said anything about a fight? I was just being neighborly."

"No, you were proposing a booty call, which ain't gonna happen, so let's drop this shit before either of us gets angry."

"But, I wanted to show off a new tattoo of mine to you."

I scowled. "You don't have tattoos."

"I do now."

"Since when has this become a fetish?"

"Since the artist at the local shop called me beautiful and wanted to see what my skin would look like with his ink on it." As she spoke, her hands ran up and down her sides, caressing herself in an attempt to sway me. I think. All it really did was make her look cheaper than she already was in her heavy makeup and tight clothes, which was a shame. The girl was actually beautiful. With long legs that seemed to never end, and golden hair that I do believe was the legit color she had been born with. Her eyes were a bright blue, when they weren't dulled from drugs or drink, and her features were fierce and sharp, like an elegant bird with her head held high. She would have been a sight to behold if she didn't think so damn little of herself and whore her body around like it was a fucking Buick for rent. I shuddered to think at where that pussy had been and the fact that my dick had taken up residence inside it at one time. Thank fuck for condoms.

She was waiting for me to ask her what the damn tat was, and I still had half the garden to water. With a sigh, I bit the bullet. "So, what is it?"

"A cowboy."

"Fuck," I cursed, running my hand over my face. I never should have worn that damn hat into that damn bar that damn night.

She had to be messing with me. "You're kiddin', right?"

"No, you wanna see?" She didn't wait for my answer before she pulled up the side of her tank to reveal a stylized cowboy along the side of her ribcage. He looked like a pin-up a sailor would have asked for, except he was male with a hat, lasso and spurs on his fucking boots. His head was tilted down, the brim hiding most of his features, but his hair held a slight wave to it and was dirty-fucking-blond. My scowl deepened. She might as well have inked J-A-S-P-E-R on her ass.

I was momentarily stunned by the stupidity and the sheer horror of this woman who had branded myself on her skin, when the screen door banged shut behind us. I turned on the spot to see a flash of Bella's hair beyond the screen as she darted back inside.

"Shit."

Rose was laughing as she turned to walk back to her own bungalow, her head thrown back in triumph. "Poor little girl got jealous, I see. Night, Jasper," she purred at me, and I shot the hose in her direction. It barely hit her porch and she just cackled more as her front door closed behind her.

Five fucking agonizing minutes later, I had garnered up enough balls to knock on Bella's door, though, I knew it was hopeless. She didn't answer, and I didn't attempt a second round of knocks.

Cursing, I walked back to my house feeling irate and all kinds of jumpy. Two weeks. Two fucking weeks of nothing, and the second Bella steps outside, she sees me and Rose on her lawn--again--with Rose flashing a fucking cowboy tattoo at me in Bella's direction. Bloody fucking brilliant, Jasper, you are a goddamn pro at mucking shit up.

I plopped onto my damn futon with a bottle of Jack in my hand, not even caring to grab a lowball. Fuck ice and a glass, I wanted the burn of the liquor and the hazy blur of my brain to hit me as fast as fucking possible. If things went well enough, I might even pull out some Knob Creek for kicks, cause mixing bourbon was always a fun pastime of mine.

The bottle was more than halfway consumed when I flopped back onto the futon and stared up at the cracking plaster ceiling to let the buzz tingle through my entire system. I thought of Bella and her quiet nature, so gentle and stoic at the same time. We hadn't said more than fifty words to each other and yet I felt a protective instinct come over me whenever I thought about her. I wanted to make sure that she was happy and safe. It's why I'd been tending to her garden, it was the only thing I could think of to do that wouldn't be over stepping my bounds when it came to her. I wanted to do _something_, but she wasn't one to be approached, she had to approach you, so I kept my distance and tried to show her that I was sorry and wanted a friendship the only way I knew how: watering the fucking plants.

God, I was pathetic.

And even in my sad attempts at a truce, I ended up offending her. I had no right to talk to Rose on Bella's damn property. What the hell had I been thinking? I should have put the damn hose down and walked away.

"Fuck," I slurred out into the hot air of the night, wanting to be back outside by Bella's garden and not in this hell hole. Dragging my ass off the futon, I schlepped my body down towards the bathroom. I was sweaty and covered in grime from the dirt. I needed a shower, and the cold water would help shock me into some form an aware state so I could continue to finish off the bottle in my hand before passing out.

At least, that was the original plan.

I, however, didn't make it to the bathroom. I tripped on an old boot in the hall and fell hard onto my side. The bottle went flying, hitting the wall and spraying amber liquid and glass around floorboards. I blinked lazily at the liquor pooling on the floor, mixing with something red and wondering what it could be. The problem was, I didn't really care, and my brain was telling me to sleep. Who was I to argue?

A swirling mix of red and amber interrupted by a set of warm, brown eyes was the last thing I remembered seeing before sleep dragged me down into a void of black.

And I let it, happily.

.

.

.

* * *

A/N: *holds up tray as a shield* Please don't hate me. I left a pretty obvious clue in there to hopefully quell the anger from that slight cliffy.

*tip-toes away*


	5. Chapter 5: Inevitable

A/N: Back with Bella for y'all.

I think this will make up for the cliffy of last chapter. At least, I hope. Bella does get to strip Jasper of his clothing down yonder.

Ho now! Aren't you intrigued? hehe.

Beta'd by Riri... *foozles* thank you/love you, bb.

* * *

.

.

.

I had learned to save hatred for only the right people after growing up with my mother. There were people in the world that one could strongly dislike, but there were only a few that truly deserved one's hatred, and even my mother only entered into that category on her worst days.

When I saw Rose on my damn lawn, practically flashing Jasper under the guise of showing him new ink that looked seriously just like the man, my carefully concocted theories on hate and dislike went out the window. I wanted to hate Rose, but I held back; she wasn't worth my time, and the way Jasper cursed and scowled at the girl, I do believe he was thinking the same thing.

So I saved my judgment. I bit my tongue and ignored the sounds of Jasper knocking at my door as I sipped on a glass of sweet tea and stared at my fish, Loretta, in her bowl. I wasn't angry or upset, I was just plain resigned to the fact that I would never get along with Rose, and if I ever wanted to talk to Jasper again, I'd need to gather my thoughts before doing so.

Which is what I did for a straight hour or more on my couch. I then boldly left the steps of my front porch with one deep breath and crossed the yard to Jasper's identical bungalow next door. This time, I was the one who was ignored at the door and figured I deserved the treatment. I had tried, that was all I could do: try.

I was halfway down his front steps when I heard the crash come from inside and I froze. That sound was eerily familiar-a memory shoving through to the font of my mind-the sound of glass hitting a wall. Oh God, Jasper was angry. Angry enough to throw something hard enough to break it.

Panic rose in my throat; my ignoring him earlier could have been a catalyst for such an outburst. I chewed on my lip and bounced on the balls on my feet as my fists clenched at my sides. I didn't know what I should do. Go inside and risk getting hurt? Anger and alcohol was the worst possible combination, and being around an irate drunk was something I never wanted to experience ever again.

But, Jesus,

_what if... _

_what if... _

Questions and scenarios ricocheted their way around my brain, sending my mind into a tizzy and causing an instant headache. I bent down onto the porch steps and put my head in my hands. If I had just stayed inside earlier, none of this would have happened. Or if it did, I would have been unaware.

Ignorance really was bliss.

_what if... _

_what if..._

Fuck, I was sinking; sinking into Jasper's world. I had tried to stay away. Letting him water my plants seemed like a friendly enough gesture, and it didn't require me to actually converse with him, so I was fine with that. I had already determined that I wouldn't involve myself in his life. I wouldn't allow myself to be prey to another alcoholic's problems.

So why was I still on his damn porch?

A pathetic whimper left my throat as I pulled at my hair. No more noise had come after the crash, but that did nothing to soothe my worry. If it was quiet, what did that mean? Maybe he had fallen? Maybe he had hurt himself?

_Maybe, maybe, maybe... _

In one long growl of frustration I screamed "shit!" out into the night. Somewhere off in the distance a cat hissed at the disturbance. Slamming my fists on the porch steps, I shoved myself up and opened the door to Jasper's home. I was going to step through that threshold and doom myself to the inevitable, because in truth, I had already made this decision weeks ago when I picked a water logged Jasper up off my lawn and let him sleep on my porch for the night. I had already screwed myself.

And what kind of person would I be if I let something bad happen to him after hearing enough evidence to assume my guesses were correct? I'd be a monster. No better than her. Someone who let people cry and bleed because she was too scared to take care of them when they needed it most.

Stepping into the dark, dank house, I peered around in the dim light. The place was sparse, with a single floor lamp and futon making up the front room, along with a coffee table and an old TV. The kitchen beyond held a similar dining set to my own, which was covered in papers, an old-fashioned typewriter, and many bottles of amber liquid. I scowled at the bottles as I prowled through the house, wanting to swipe them out of existence with my mind since my hands were shaking too hard to handle the job.

It didn't take long to find him. Jasper was passed-out on his side in the back hallway that lead to the bathroom and bedroom. The sound of the crash was evident and strewn all over the floor at my feet. Glass shards and slippery liquid coiled around his body like thorn laden tendrils; threatening and sharp. That horrific image should have been enough to scare me, enough to have me crying out for help. But no, my mind had been desensitized after witnessing much worse. What had my stomach churning in an instant, sickening rhythm was the blatant presence of something else in the spill. It looked black in the dim light, but I knew what it was; I could smell the copper and salt scent of rust in the air:

Blood.

Jasper was bleeding out into a pool of liquor.

I wanted to vomit.

It was then that my scales tipped and I truly felt hatred for the first time in a long while. I hated Rose in that moment. Hated her. It might have been unjust to pin such an event on her alone, surely part of this was my fault, but my instincts were telling me to scream and claw my way back over to her house and rip at her scalp until all the hair was pulled from her head. I wanted to scratch at her eyes and kick at her shins, anything to rid myself of the horrible image before me.

But I didn't. Nor did I vomit. I held it all in and I went to work, stepping over Jasper and into the bathroom beyond to grab towels. I turned on every light I could find in the hallway, the kitchen, the bedroom, bathroom, livingroom, everywhere. I needed all the light there was; I needed to see where Jasper had been cut and how deep those cuts were. As quick as I could manage, I swept all the glass and the liquor, the blood, all of it, to the far corner of the hallway. Getting as much of the mess out of my way as possible so I could turn Jasper over and hopefully get him to the bathroom without any more scrapes.

Jasper moaned as I pushed him onto his back and onto a towel I had laid down to prevent him from bleeding further onto the wood. His face was a mess and his neck was worse. There was a large, angry gash on his collarbone that ended at the base of his throat. Above it was another scratch which thankfully was only skin deep. Everything else looked like pin pricks all over his skin; acupuncture gone wrong.

My body shook violently as I attempted to pull out the bits of glass in his cheekbones, temple and around his shoulders. My fingers slipped several times and Jasper whimpered in my arms. He wasn't conscious; he was barely moving, but each little sound drove the stake of guilt further into my side.

Why had I waited? How much blood had he lost? Should I call an ambulance? Would he want me to?

Question after question poured out of my mind as I worked to clean him up, hating myself the entire time. _I shouldn't be in this house,_ I thought. This shouldn't be my responsibility, and yet, it obviously was. I cursed and threw another piece of glass into the pile in the corner before grabbing him under the arms and pulling him back into the bathroom. Getting him under the spray of the shower would be the quickest way to wake him and simultaneously clean off all the extra blood and glass that there might be.

I almost started crying, the scenario was so familiar. This was not the first time I'd dragged a body to the tub in a drunken stupor, and drunks who'd passed out were the worst kind of dead-weight. Hauling a corpse would be easier.

Grunting and scraping my heel on a glass shard, I yelped while tugging him backwards. The anger that flared in me from the pain in my foot gave me the adrenaline I needed to pull him as upright as I was going to get him before turing on the spray of the showerhead. Jasper was tall, annoyingly fucking tall. And I was short. This was not the best of situations.

"Jasper," I breathed out in a huff, "you gotta wake up for me, okay?"

He didn't respond, and I didn't expect him to, it was just an old habit to keep on talking. I was going to have to at least pull off his pants before putting him in the tub, and talking helped to combat the awkward feeling in the air so that my nerves wouldn't get the best of me.

It's just jeans, Bella, get over yourself. You've done this before.

Shit, I had, hadn't I? Why was I the one who ended up pulling jeans off Jasper? Weird.

I shook my head and refocused.

With a final grunt, I managed to sit myself onto the toilet with Jasper heavy on my chest. I kept one arm wrapped securely around his upper torso as the other went to work on that fucking buckle the size of a double-wide.

"Jesus, Jasper, did you have to purchase button down jeans? What, zippers are too easy for you?" I complained to him.

Like it wasn't hard enough to undo a belt buckle one-handed. Unbuttoning jeans with one hand was akin to attempting a ski jump without skis...or something. It was even more taxing when the jeans belonged to a person who had about 70 pounds or more on you. _Literally_. Jasper was like lead on top of me, and fuck was he heavy.

My hand shot back up his torso when I sensed the silk of soft heat beneath my fingers.

"Oh, great," I lamented. The touch, the feel of cotton. The fabric of our lives was _not_ what I had just felt at the front of Jasper's pants. The boy was going commando. "Ugh!" I shouted, and Jasper sounded a painful groan in response.

"Sorry," I said, figuring that was unfair since I'd shouted directly into his ear. God, who was I apologizing to? Jasper couldn't hear me. The boy was out cold. If I could have face-palmed at that moment, I would have. Instead, I lifted up my knees, shoved the soles of my feet alongside Jasper's waist and pushed down his jeans in one long go.

"Alright," I said, proud of myself. "Now for the hard part."

I eyed the tub and the showerhead warily. This was not going to be fun.

After three tries of attempting to stand with Jasper, and not tripping us both with his pants that were pooled at his ankles, I finally got him into the tub with his jean-clad feet dangling over the side. My hair was plastered to my face and my entire body was soaked from the spray, but he was in there and his jeans were still dry. Oddly enough, I smiled at that as I yanked them off his legs and ignored whatever was going on or around his hip area.

"Right." I put my hands on my hips in a business like fashion. "Shower time."

Stepping into the far side of the tub I took down the shower head, and as gently as I could, washed Jasper's face and hair free of debris. The water was hot but not scalding, the perfect temp to keep him soothed and hopefully good enough to clean his wounds. The deep cuts at his collarbone and temple were still bleeding, but not as badly, and every other scrape on his face and torso soon turned to nothing but a small pink line as the water worked over him.

When I was finished, I slumped down into the shallow water of the tub and took a deep breath. I was exhausted and I still had to get this fucker dry and out of the quickly cooling water.

"God, Jasper, please wake up," I begged, shoving my hands into my soaked hair.

As if on cue, his eyes opened. I gasped. He was staring right at me and looking as lucid ad I'd ever seen him.

"Jasper?" I asked, wondering if I'd finally lost it.

"Bella?" His brows creased. "You're wet."

I wanted to laugh but I was just too tired. I settled on nodding my head in agreement. Yes, I was wet, and cold.

"Can you stand?" I asked him, getting up myself. He followed my movement with his oddly sharp eyes and I reached out a hand to him. An awkward and slightly adorable moment followed where Jasper realized that his legs were dangling outside the tub and he had to bring them into the water in order to attempt to stand. I helped him and soon I had his tall, lanky body leaning heavily on me. Our feet were wet and so was the tile. This was not going to be easy.

"Try not to slip," I told him and he nodded into my hair, making me shiver.

Miraculously, we did not slip or trip on our way down the hall. I cursed at the pile of glass in the corner, steering Jasper away, worried about his bare feet.

Jasper's bedroom was not pretty, nor did it smell particularly clean. I wrinkled my nose at the stale air and eyed the bed suspiciously. I had just gone to a whole lot of trouble getting this man clean and I was then going to leave him on that mattress? No.

"I never sleep here," Jasper mumbled.

"Oh. You stay at a friend's?" I asked.

"No."

"Girlfriend's?"

Jasper's answer was a scoff, and I felt the gust of air blow at my wet hair. It tickled.

"Where do you sleep, Jasper?"

"Living room."

"Huh," I mused before turning us around and walking us back down the hall. He could have told me that before was had to step over the glass pile in the first place. Dick.

Laying a relatively clean towel down on the sofa I pushed Jasper's shoulders back until his legs folded in half and he sat down. He immediately fell to the side and curled into a fetal position. I sighed. He was out cold again.

"Well, at least I got you to the sofa."

For the next two hours I worked in cleaning up his back hallway, bathroom and slightly scary bedroom. Jasper's bungalow, like mine, had a washer and dryer set built into the back porch of the house under an overhang from the roof. I managed to do two loads of towels, jeans, sheets and shirts without Jasper so much as making a single noise from his makeshift bed on the futon.

It was not my intention to clean his house. As a matter of fact, I should have just left the second the boy was asleep and safe on the sofa, but my instincts had kicked in once again, and I found myself picking up strewn laundry and old bottles before I could stop myself.

I hated that I cared.

.

.

.

* * *

A/N: Yeah, B, you're totally sucked in at this point. Let's just agree, kay?

How was that? Better ending than last week, right?

hehe.

As always, thanks for reading. Enjoy your Sunday lovelies!

~Zigs


	6. Chapter 6: Laying Down the Law

A/N: Hello all!

I've been getting a lot of story alerts in my box as of late. This makes me smile, and I just wanted to say thank you again for your interest in my little fic.

Beta'd by Riri: The space-after-ellipsis-eraser-extrodinaire! *foozles* Hmm...that's a wordy nickname. I'll have to work on that.

Jasper's all naked and passed out down there so I won't keep you. Enjoy.

* * *

.

.

.

I woke up with the sun. It streamed in through the blinds of my front windows and cut through my dreamless sleep, forcing my eyes open. I winced and brought a hand up to my head to force out the light, but instead, I was distracted by the feel of something weird and rubbery on my skin.

A Band-Aid. It was placed over my temple. Odd.

When more of my senses came to me, I realized I was covered in a sheet, and beneath it, I was naked.

When the fuck did I kick off all my clothes? And why did I smell so damn normal? Dare I say, fresh? Upon further inspection, I realized it wasn't me who smelled particularly fresh, but instead the sheet. As if it had just been pulled out of the dryer. I breathed in the clean scent greedily, taking it deep into my lungs, and holding it. My laundry never smelled that damn good.

The clean scent, and the shock of waking up naked was only a minor detour from the raging headache that made itself known the next moment. I groaned and turned on the futon, curling myself up into a tight ball. Clearly, my plans of drinking myself into a stupor and passing out for the next few days straight were not successful. What the hell had stopped me?

I thought hard, trying to remember what I could of the previous evening.

Watering Bella's garden, smiling at the gnomes, hearing NPR: it all seemed normal. The status quo. What had gone wrong?

With a heavy grunt, I shoved myself up off the futon and shuffled over to the window to close the curtains. Someone had opened them along with all the windows in the house. The place had never been so aired out before. It almost smelled nice.

Clean sheets, open windows...what the hell?

I trudged into the kitchen, keeping the clean smelling sheet wrapped around me for comfort and feeling like a complete baby. Whatever, it was my damn house, I could walk around like Linus with his blanket if I damn well pleased.

The coffee maker had been pre-set. There were fresh grounds and a clean filter inside the lid, along with the water poured in up to six cups. The exact amount I made each morning—that is, whenever I was alert enough to remember to make it.

I blinked down at Mr. Coffee in confusion. There was no way I'd been lucid enough last night to set up the coffee for the next morning. I don't think I've _ever_ been that lucid to think that far ahead, period.

Turning slowly from the counter I started to walk around my house with new, more focused eyes; my headache momentarily forgotten. Things were the same, yet different. The kitchen table was still covered in partially graded papers with my dusty typewriter taking up space next to the mess, yet it looked more organized than last I'd seen it. The papers were haphazardly thrown about for the most part, yes, but were arranged into loosely ordered piles. Contained chaos. The bottles that had been on the table were missing. That was somewhat worrisome, but I ignored the observation and continued on my tour of the foreign place that I'd once called my home.

The back hallway was spotless. The floor looked cleaner than it'd ever been; not one stray piece of dust in the corner, or a beer bottle cap lying along the edge of the molding. Nothing. The bathroom was worse...or should I say, better? The surfaces were shining for the first time in, well, since I'd moved in, and the tub looked freshly scrubbed. The window was also thrown wide open, and a breeze was lightly filtering in through the sheers. I never opened that window, not even after I'd taken a dump. I'd always been too lazy, or just too drunk to care.

Feeling anxious, I stepped out of the bathroom and hesitantly pushed open the door to my room that I so seldom used.

"Shit."

My bedroom was clean. The bed was made. The windows were open, and a fan had been set up in the sill to blow fresh air into the room. My closet doors were, likewise, open, and my clothes were hanging in neat rows on the hangers. There was an extra pile of folded laundry on top of the dresser, and I stalked towards it to immediately bury my face in it.

Breathing deep, I caught the natural scent that also clung to the sheet I'd wrapped around myself. It was fresh and spring-like, and yet not too blatant or potent. Christ, had someone done my laundry with fabric softener? Were dryer sheets used? Sweet Jesus.

Boggled beyond belief, I sat down hard on the floor, leaning back against my made up bed and threw my head in my hands, thinking hard.

_Last night...last night...last night..._

I rocked back and forth like a child recovering from a nightmare, trying hard to remember my own. This was the reason I drank, to forget, and yet there I was, forcing my brain to remember. Like god damn Winnie the Pooh._ Tink...tink...tink! _

"Jaaa-sper!" Someone called through the screen door, and rapped loudly on the frame. I winced into my hands, not enjoying the decibel level of Rose's voice or her knocks at all.

"Jaaaaa-sper!" She called again, lengthening the syllables, and simultaneously, heightening my pain.

"One minute!" I yelled down the hall, grimacing at the ache it caused my brain. It felt like my head was going to pop clean off and fly around the room backwards any second.

Stumbling to the dresser, I grabbed a pair of freshly laundered jeans and a t-shirt and threw them on as quickly as possible. If Rose walked in and saw me naked, that damn harpy would pounce on me for sure.

She was still knocking when I shuffled into the front room, still holding my head in my hands.

"Enough, woman. Jesus," I said as I wrenched open the door.

"Now, Jasper, is that the way you greet all your guests?" She replied with a smile. To my horror, she was holding something in her hands that looked like a pie. Christ, if she baked for me I was going to lose it.

"What time is it?" I asked, attempting to ignore the pie in front of me.

"1:30," she answered, all saccharine sweet.

"What?" I shot back a bit too loudly, shocking even my own senses. Shit, it was past one? God, maybe I had drank more than I thought.

"Yup. 1:30," she repeated. "I would have come by sooner but I was at work."

"You don't work."

"Yes, I do. Well, did. The bastard fired me. Regardless, I took a pie as my retirement gift from the bakery business, and I thought I'd come share it with you." She held up the offering with a bright smile and I suddenly felt like that Disney chick character being offered the shiny apple from that scary, old hag.

With a sigh, I stepped out onto the porch, forcing her back off my welcome mat and shut my front door behind me. If Rose was going to spend any amount of time on my property, it was going to be outside. She looked up at me with a pout, clearly wondering why we weren't fucking like bunnies already.

"You don't want the pie?" She asked with mock hurt in her voice.

"Thank you, but no."

"But Jas, I brought—"

"Don't! Call me Jas. Please."

Rose's expression looked genuinely hurt from my words, and I ran my hands through my hair in frustration. Was there any getting rid of this woman?

"Christ, I'm too dry for this." I needed coffee, and scotch. Not exactly in that order.

"Well that's alright, cause I'm allll wet," she said, stepping closer. I groaned.

"Do you have to be so fucking crass?"

"Would you prefer telling me what to say, Jasper? I'll play along."

She was too close, and I was too hung over. I stepped back and my knees hit the edge of the adirondack chair. I fell hard onto the seat with a grunt. Rose was not deterred and placed the pie down on the porch railing before advancing further.

Hiking up her sun dress she placed one knee on the far side of my thigh, "I could do whatever you want me to, Jasper. Would you like that?" she asked before putting her other leg on the other side of mine. I rolled my head back in utter annoyance before grabbing onto her hips hard with my hands and stilling her above me. Her eyes flashed with heat, misreading my actions.

"No, Rose. Not again. Not. Ever."

Rose, who apparently didn't hear me, moved in closer to my mouth. I forced her back harder with my hands and she winced.

"Shit, Rose are—" I tried to ask if she was hurt, but she just kept on moving in.

"Careful, baby. Don't want you ruining my ink."

_Wait, what? Ink?_

"Ink?"

"My tattoo. I showed you last night. Remember?"

No. As a matter of fact, I didn't.

_Tink...tink...tink..._

I dropped my head to the side, staring at the lawn. I'd been watering the plants and Rose came out to bait me.

"Shit!" I cursed, sitting up straight and taking Rose with me. She threw her head back with joyous laughter as her arms wrapped around my neck while I stood. I dropped my arms from her and attempted to walk away, but she wouldn't let me go.

"Rose, give it up, girl. Come on."

"No, Jasper. You come on," she said, shaking me. She attempted to put her hands on either side of my face to pull me in for a kiss but I grabbed her wrists and forced her back.

"Rose," I warned, walking her backward towards the steps. "Please, leave."

I dropped her arms and turned from her, running my hands over my face and trying to remember more details about last night. I had stalked home angry after not getting an answer from Bella at the door. I picked up a bottle and went to town.

Christ, but then what? I racked my brain, trying hard to pull the pieces of my broken memory together, but someone was rubbing my shoulder, distracting me, and I spun on my heel.

"Rose! Leave!" I shouted in her face and she finally stilled, getting the point. With a huff of indignation she grabbed her pie and stalked across mine and Bella's lawns, looking back at me once before throwing the pie at Bella's front door with a shrill cry that a banshee would be jealous over. It landed with a thud on her porch steps and I full out growled at Rose with my fists clenched.

That was one crazy bitch.

Rose slammed her door shut the moment Bella opened hers. Her large, Bambi eyes focused on the ruined pie on her front steps before darting towards Rose's door and then staring across her porch towards mine. Our eyes locked, hazel with green, and I realized then the missing link.

"Bella," I breathed, my heart speeding up. No doubt seeing the fire in my gaze, Bella bolted back inside her house, closing her door faster than I could run down my steps. I stopped mere feet from her porch and stared at the slopping mess of blueberries and pastry covering the steps.

I'd fallen. Something tripped me and I fell, causing the bottle in my hand to be thrown and shatter around me as I crashed onto it's broken shards.

I watched the purple juice of the blueberries drip down the porch steps and pool into a small puddle on the stone path. Flashes of amber liquid and blood came to mind. My blood. Then Bella's eyes. Her warm, concerned eyes filled the frame of my dying vision and picked me up.

My head shot up towards her front door. "Jesus," I choked out. She had done it all, hadn't she? Cleaned me up, bandaged me. Picked up the mess and tidied my house. _Fuck._ The piles of papers was her doing. The fabric softener in the laundry. Clean Sheets. Mr. Coffee. It'd all been her.

Before I knew it, I was knocking on her door. Probably a bit too loudly, but it was nothing compared to the blood pumping through my ears, creating a wooshing drone that canceled out all other sound.

After my first round of knocks I didn't dare disturb her door again, but I knew she'd answer, and so I waited.

It took her five minutes to open the door. When she did, I was almost vibrating with the few concrete details I had remembered of her being in my house last night.

"Bella," I said, at a loss for words. "I can't believe...I...I'm so sorry Bella."

She shook her head, her too-long bangs falling into her eyes. "No, Jasper. You were hurt, it was—"

"You didn't have to do all that."

"No," she responded, looking me straight in the eye. "I didn't."

"What made you?" I asked, more awed than aware of the rudeness of my question.

She dropped her eyes. "I heard the crash. I was...worried."

"Christ." I was once again at a loss. She'd done so much and I could barely string a sentence together.

"Jasper, I'm very tired. I'm glad you're feeling better, but could we maybe talk later?" She didn't look up as she spoke, and her voice was very low. Desperate even. It was clear she did not want me on her porch.

I nodded, despite the fact that she couldn't see and turned to wash off the left over evidence of Rose's insanity before it stained the wooden boards of Bella's steps.

Ten minutes later, all remnants of the pie were washed away, and the tin had been thrown into the garbage bin along the sides of our houses. I was coiling up the hose when I heard Bella clear her throat from the doorway. Not trusting my idiotic brain to say the right thing around her just yet, I tried my best to keep a smile on my face and gave her an idiotic salute before walking down the steps.

"Jasper," she called, making me pause. I turned and waited while she bit her lip and bounced slightly on the balls of her feet. "I...I want you to know that I can't do that again. I won't pick you up from another pool of your own blood. You scared me and I did my best, but I can't do that again. If you want me to be...friends with you then we need to agree on something." She took a deep breath and squared her shoulders. I dreaded what would come next. "You want to see me, or talk to me; no drinking. If you come over here to water the plants or to hang around on the porch, that's fine, but not when you're drunk. Not when you've even had a single drink. I won't talk to you if you do."

Bella finished her little speech by nodding at me stiffly with her lips drawn tight across her face. She looked scared and anticipatory, as if I would explode at her declaration. I blanched at her words.

"Oh," I said, dumbly.

"I grew up with it, and I'm done with it. I like you, Jasper, but I don't want it back in my life. Please don't make me regret letting you in."

_It, _she said_._ Alcohol. She meant alcohol. _It_ meant everything I was.

Crap, could I do that? Could I actually keep it together long enough to see her again? Bella was special, I'd known it since I moved in next door, but did I want to give up the only comfort I had for a fragile friendship with this even more fragile girl?

_It_ was all I had to give. She wanted to strip me bare and leave me raw, exposed. I had no other vice. I only drank to keep the memories at bay, and even then I only did it alone, hidden in my own little hell. I hadn't meant to hurt anyone with my self-destruction. It's why I moved out here in the first place, to get away from everyone I could hurt. And yet she'd forced herself into my life and tried to fix me.

That thought made me prickle on the inside. She didn't have to save me, and yet she did. Why didn't she just leave me on that damn floor? Then I wouldn't have had to make this fucking decision on the spot. I rocked on my heels, my hands shoved deep in my pockets, warring with two very different emotions. The fear that I'd lose whatever it was that Bella and I had before it even got off the ground, and anger that she had already planted herself deep enough in my head so that my choice was robbed from me in the first place.

That was it, I had no choice. If I wanted to keep talking to Bella—hell, if I even wanted to keep watering her damn plants—I had to stop. On her terms, I had to stop.

_Fuck!_

I found myself nodding before I could muster up an answer and Bella took it as an agreement. She gave me a tight smile and turned away from me to walk back into her house. I heard, rather than saw, the silent thud of her green front door being shut. She left me there, on her porch, in shock.

Did I just agree to stop drinking? I blinked at the space Bella had just been occupying and my mouth went dry as my throat closed in on itself. My hand came up to clamp down on my neck and I felt gauze and tape over my collarbone. More evidence that Bella had tended to my wounds and made sure that I stopped bleeding in a puddle on my floor.

_Fuck!_

She was stealing my comfort away from me. My escape. My one and only solace in what was left of my life. And for what? For conversation? For the right to use her god damn hose? To stand on her porch like a lost puppy and hope that she'd emerge long enough for us to connect in someway?

No, I couldn't. Fuck that. I couldn't do it. I couldn't...

My fingers brushed over the gauze on my skin one more time, feeling the soft fiber and the delicate pieces of tape placed around them.

I had to sit down.

Walking over to her porch swing, I plopped down without grace and started to rock myself back and forth. Back and forth. Back and forth. The creaking of the wood, mixed with the scraping of the chains over the steel hoops holding up the old thing created a soothing bit of white noise for me to zone out with. I lost myself willingly in the repetition of moving my leg to push the swing, along the rhythmic sounds it made, needing the distraction.

I don't know how long I sat out there on her porch, mulling things over, but I only looked up when a pair of small, pale bare feet appeared in my vision.

"Bella," my head shot up to see her in full. She looked nervous, like the mouse she'd been weeks ago when I first woke up on her porch. Also like that first time, she was holding out a mug of something steaming towards me. I took it gratefully, without question.

"Thank you."

She nodded, as was her custom. I scooted over on the swing and offered her the space beside me. She hesitated only for a moment before she carefully shuffled over to the farthest side of the swing and curled herself up on the seat. With a small smile in her direction, I stretched out a bit, draping my free arm across the back, and started rocking us both back and forth. Bella rested her head on her knees, facing towards me, and closed her eyes. I watched her like that as I took sips of the ginger tea she'd given me, happy once again for the distraction from my thoughts.

After a few minutes of silence, Bella started speaking in her quiet, unassuming voice. Her words were gentle and unhurried, but what they explained made my insides twist and bleed. She talked about her mother, how she drank every night until she was in a stupor and could barely walk.

"And you had to take care of her?" I asked, dreading the answer since she'd just done the same for me.

Bella nodded once, her eyes still closed. "Yeah. She slept on the couch, like you. Figured it was closer to the bottles in the kitchen, less things for her to trip over on the way."

_Jesus_. That was _not_ the reason I slept in the living room of my house, but I didn't want to interrupt Bella again.

"She knew when to really let go and when to hold it back. Around company, for instance, she always kept herself on the edge, never quite spilling over. She kept up appearances for her shows. My mother was a brilliant performer. A musician." At that, Bella opened her eyes and looked at me. I felt the guilt swirl in my gut, knowing it read on my face. Bella had cleaned my house last night, surely she'd seen the guitars in the bedroom.

"Bella—" I tried to explain, but she cut me off.

"It was when the company was gone that things got out of hand. I'd always feel abandoned when they'd leave and not take me with them." Her voice wasn't accusatory, nor did it hold anger or bitterness. She was merely telling me the facts, but God, why was she sharing this with me? And worse yet, did she really see that many similarities between me and her mother?

"How long have you played guitar?" _Shit._ She did.

"Since I was ten", I explained. I couldn't help my smile a little at the memory. "My grandaddy gave me his guitar. It was a steel bellied one. Made a whole lotta noise when played incorrectly, but he quickly showed me the rights and wrongs of it."

"My mother played her whole life too," she said, her eyes closing again. I dropped my hand from the back of the porch swing and touched her shoulder. She flinched but didn't back away, and didn't open her eyes. I took that as a good an invitation as any.

"Bella, I'm not like her. I promise."

"Don't promise. Promises are too easy to break."

"Then I'll just have to show you," I said with a sigh, realizing the weight of my own words.

Bella's lids opened again, a spark of life showing in her tired eyes. "You will?"

I gave her a nod of my head, and with it, my word.

_Lawd, this was going to be hard_, I thought.

"Bella?" I prompted, getting her attention since her eyes had fallen to watch the steam rising from the cup in my hand.

"Hmmm?"

"Could I stay here a bit longer? It's easier...to be around you."

"Sure, Jasper," she said, her eyes closing again. "Let's just swing. I like being outside on nights like this."

And so I stayed, the rocking of the swing and the chirping of the crickets keeping us company as we sat in silence on her porch. I only drank half of the tea before it cooled, and Bella barely moved the entire time we were outside. When the sun had fallen behind us, and the sky went from being streaked with oranges and pinks to purples and blues, I shifted in my seat, knowing our time was coming to an end for now.

"Jasper," Bella called, after we had departed for the night and I walked across her lawn towards mine. I turned to listen but she faltered on her next words. "I...um...'night, Jasper."

"Goodnight, Bella."

.

.

.

* * *

A/N: *sigh* Jasper's a kind soul. To me, at least, he is. lol

Alright, you might have noticed that this chapter was twice as long as my regular chapters. Woot! I'm happy about that because it makes me feel less guilty. I'm going to be going away for a week on Tuesday the 8th. So I probably won't be able to post the next chapter of B&T until June 15th or 16th, as opposed to the 13th.

I hope you enjoyed this, though! Thank you for reading.

Zigs


	7. Chapter 7: Calm Before the Storm

A/N: For those of you who know me from my SVM stories, the fact that this is late is no surprise to you. It's typical Zigs. To those of you who only read this and are feeling bewildered or betrayed by my tardiness, I apologize for the rude awakening. I'm not perfect.

I know, shocking.

But enough about me, let's read about Bella! Yay. Riri, as always, cleaned this dirty chapter up. And when I say dirty, I mean completely innocent and filled with adorable times on porch swings.

The songs in this chapter are as follows: (in case you want to youtube that shiz)

Joni Mitchell - Case of You  
The Beatles - Blackbird

* * *

.

.

.

I knew I shouldn't have gone back outside; I knew it. But he was sitting there looking lost on my porch, and I couldn't help by try and reach out to him in some way. It was, of course, stupid of me. I still hated myself for caring, but he was so solitary out there on his own, and I felt lonely in my house with no one but Loretta to talk to. We were two people separated by nothing much other than a door and a shared fear of getting in too deep. The problem was, we already were—up to our shoulders deep. There wasn't much point in keeping him at an arm's length anymore, so I gave in. Again.

God, I was so weak.

We sat together for hours it seemed. The sun dipped below the horizon and the air chilled, along with the tea I had brought him, and still we sat. Jasper never stopped rocking us on the swing, and I almost fell asleep from how peaceful the noise of the creaking wood and the crickets sounded.

When Jasper got up to leave, I sighed, saddened. Jasper's presence—when he wasn't busy trying to charm me or clouded with drink—was calming and addictive. It was an alarming realization, but it was a truthful one. I found myself trying to appease him, make him feel some of the comfort he had inadvertently brought me, but all I could muster was a simple "goodnight."

Later that evening, and well into the early hours of the morning, I relished the few hours of peace I had found on the porch, since it was obvious sleep was not going to come to me. I sat with my mother's guitar in my hands and strummed lazily, not thinking of words or chords, but merely lulling myself with the soft hum of the strings.

In a way, I was as bad as she was. Except my addiction was the memories I refused to let go of, and this damn guitar I couldn't part with. Both tethered me to her and kept me under the current that constantly threatened to drag me out to sea. It was a catch 22: I didn't want to forget so I could avoid repeating the same mistakes, and yet I yearned to not remember each night I sat awake reliving the past.

What was the point of wanting to remind myself of my old mistakes if I was simply going to ignore all I'd learned and start over again with Jasper? I'd already wedged myself into his life too securely, and I knew that those weeks he'd spent tending my garden and hanging around like a puppy weren't for the sake of wasting time. He wanted to be around me.

It was a scary, scary thought.

Only time would tell, I supposed. Tonight I'd given him my ultimatum. If he wanted to be a part of my life, he had to let go of his self-destructive ways.

I had expected him to put up a fight, but instead he closed in on himself and pondered for hours on my porch.

He was right, he wasn't like my mother. My mother would have screamed and cried, and kicked and cursed. She would have rampaged and thrown her nicknacks and belongings around the room until there was nothing left but a kaleidoscope of shredded color and tears.

Jasper sat with his arm slung over my porch swing and a distracted look on his face to take in what I'd told him. He barely spoke, and hardly moved, save for the constant pushing of his right leg to keep us rocking. He was a self-contained being; a contradiction to my prejudice.

In a small voice, I found myself singing. The slow strums of my hand turned into plucks, and my lazy fingers on the frets found chords to accompany my hums. I had fallen into the middle of a song, and sang it softly into the darkness of my living room.

_"...go to him, stay with him if you can, but be prepared to bleed. _

_"Oh, you're in my blood like holy wine, you taste so bitter, and so sweet..." _

It was Joni Mitchell, one of my mother's favorites. I found it ironic that the song used a metaphor about drinking to symbolize the pain of a relationship. I closed my eyes, ignoring the Freudian connections that might have been evident in the lyrics and continued to sing, a bit louder as I fell farther into the rhythm.

After another verse I found myself scowling as I sang, and abruptly stopped. I didn't want to think of my mother anymore. Tonight hadn't been about her for the most part, and I shouldn't have let myself wallow in the dark as I was.

I stood up and brought the guitar with me to walk out onto the back porch. It was early, 5AM and the sun was just starting to streak the indigo sky with soft blue light. Soon the early gray would shift to yellow and orange, and the crest of the sun's head would show above the ocean's waves. This was my favorite time of day: the early morning when everyone else slept and I owned the sky.

With the morning light just starting to tint my eyes, I sat down on an adirondack chair and started to hum and pluck.

_"Blackbird singing in the dead of night...take these broken wings and learn to fly..._

_"All your life, you were only waiting for this moment to arise..." _

I stayed there on that back porch for another hour, watching the sky lighten as just the tip of sun begin to show, repeating the pluckings of the main harmony and switching back and forth between singing softly and humming.

_"...you were only waiting for this moment to arise..." _

In order to watch the ocean, I had to look past Jasper's own back porch and the bottles I'd lined up along the bottom of the railing. I hadn't dared to drain their contents, but I didn't want to leave them in the house. It was a futile attempt to make a point, but it was all I could muster. His anger was not something I sought to ever see.

The sun's light cut the dark gray sky with a slash of red across the horizon, coloring the ocean tangerine and blue. It cast shadows across the pillars of Jasper's porch and my own, seemingly connecting the two.

Still, I sang.

_"You were only waiting...for this moment to arise..."_

. . .

"Bella," someone was saying above me in a soft voice that ran like caramel over my sore muscles. I shifted in my seat and groaned.

"Bella," he said again, concern piercing the smooth sound. A hand touched my shoulder, gentle and warm, and my eyes flicked open, blinking into the dim light. "Bella, it's gonna rain."

Sure enough, the sky above me was angry with grey-green clouds. Whatever beauty that had arisen this morning with the sun had been choked out by those low-hanging pests. I scowled up at their menacing presence.

While attempting to stand, I found that the back of my legs were stuck to the paint of the old chair and my neck was cricked to the side at an odd angle. I'd fallen asleep, and felt like shit because of it. Jasper was smiling above me in a sweet way, not teasing, just soft. He hesitantly took the guitar from my arms and then with his free hand, offered me his arm like a gentlemen would. It was an old-fashioned gesture, and I found myself wondering if his grandaddy had passed more onto his grandson than merely a steel-bellied guitar.

I stared at his outstretched hand a beat too long before accepting his help and letting him pull me from the old, sticky chair. The heat of my body, mixed from the heat of the early morning did nothing to help with my groggy composure. My shirt was damp from where the guitar had been laying on my belly, and my face was prickly from the moist air.

"I hate humidity," I said to the sky, glad for the impending storm, knowing it would help cut the heat.

"Try living in Georgia in the summertime. You could swim down the street for how the thick air gets. Everyone thinks southeners are slow talkers 'cause of their lack of intelligence, but really, it's just the humidity. You learn to take things easy when the mere act of opening one's mouth makes you sweat."

I snorted, despite myself. Jasper's accent had appeared with the rain, and I liked the sound of it. We ducked inside rather fast as the first few droplets hit the backs of our legs, as if it were telling us to skedaddle into the house before it was too late.

"That's a beautiful guitar," he said, admiring the toxic instrument in my hand. I loved and hated my mother's guitar simultaneously. Maybe I should have left it outside to warp in the storm? It had probably already untuned itself from the heat, how was a little bit more water going to effect it? I smiled at my evil plan, but quickly handed the guitar to Jasper without thinking before I did something stupid...like break it over the kitchen table.

Jasper took it into his hands with reverence, no doubt knowing how rare a Gibson it was. I bit my lip and folded my arms across my chest. It was always the same with the people who saw it. They oohed and ahhed at the thing as if it were something magical. Surely, that was my mother's intention. She knew what she was doing when she sold our car to purchase the damn instrument. She had taken better care of that piece of wood and string then she ever had with me, and I resented it and hoarded it for that reason.

Ugh, I was so fucked in the head.

"Was this your mother's?" Jasper asked, his tone careful.

I nodded.

"You kinda hate it, don't you?"

I nodded again.

He hummed, agreeing with me, as he sat down at the kitchen table with the guitar still in his hands. "I think I get that."

"It's not the guitar's fault," I offered, trying to explain myself. Jasper smiled.

"You play." It was a statement not a question. I balked.

His smile faltered slightly, "I uhh...heard you last night."

I dropped my arms in shock as my mouth fell open. "Shit." Shaking my head, I apologized quickly, I hadn't meant to curse out loud.

"Don't apologize, Bella, you sounded beautiful."

My toes curled and my head fell forward as a thunder clap sounded outside. I hated compliments. Apparently, so did the weather.

"I don't expect you to say yes, but if you ever wanted to play...I'd really like to hear it. Up close I mean."

I didn't like the direction this conversation was going, and for some reason it made me angry to see my mother's guitar in Jasper's hands so I ignored his proposition. "Let's sit outside."

"But, the storm, Bella."

"The front porch is deep, the roof covers us. I like counting the seconds between the lightning and thunder to see how close the storm is." I was already walking towards the front door as I spoke. If Jasper wanted to come, he could. If not, that was fine. There was no way I was going to stay in that kitchen with the guitar and him in the same room.

It took him three minutes, but the creaking of the screen door eventually sounded behind me. I felt him at my side before he slipped into the adirondack chair next to mine and pulled his legs to his chest, like I had done. The wind in the air had definitely cut through the heat, I was almost chilled from the spray.

When the next crack of lightning flashed across the sky, I turned my gaze to see Jasper's face illuminated before me, and together we counted. "One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine—" Thunder interrupted our game, sending vibrations of sound through the air, making me shiver down to my toes.

"Nine miles," I said, not daring to blink.

"That's far."

"It'll get closer, though. Soon."

"I'm glad."

"I'm scared."

"Don't be."

"Why?"

"I didn't drink today, Bella."

Lightning flashed again but this time, I saw the lucidity in his eyes, the tightness of his jaw, and the stress present in the way he sat prone on the chair. He was fighting, but for now, he was winning.

.

.

.

* * *

A/N: So, little side note. Right before posting this, I did some research on that old game of counting the seconds between lightning and thunder. Turns out, it's a mile for every five seconds, but for the sake of the chapter I'm gonna ask y'all to please suspend your disbelief. When I was a child playing that game on my Nana's back porch, I thought it was a second to every mile. *sigh* I hate being wrong.

If you'd like to Bella's mother's guitar, it's linked on my profile.

Thank you all for waiting and reading. :-)


	8. Chapter 8: Tuning

A/N: Riri = beta. Riri = awesome. *foozles*

* * *

.

.

.

It had been a week since I found Bella on her back porch before the storm. A full week. Seven days without a drop of alcohol passing my dried lips.

I felt like shit.

My body was racked with the shakes almost every hour, and my mouth tasted sour no matter what I did. Brushing my teeth constantly couldn't take the bitter taste out of it, nor did the copious amounts of mouth wash I gargled with, or the gum I chewed. The gum did turn my stomach into knots, though, from the sugar, and only made my trips to the bathroom more frequent.

I guess the normal amounts of food I was trying—or, rather failing—to consume were a shock to my fermented system. Despite the pain and the aggravation I felt the first few days, I didn't cave in with my attempts to stay away from the bottle because this time...

I had a reason.

She lived next door, she looked like Bambi with those big brown eyes that could see right through me, and her name was Bella.

_Bella, Bella, Bella..._

I didn't see her much those first few days, and I knew why: Bella was scared. No doubt, she'd witnessed attempts at sobriety with her mother many times and didn't want to experience it again—no matter how far off on the sidelines she was—so when I'd drag my sorry self over to her porch, I knew she wouldn't come out to sit with me.

I just wanted to be close to her. She had an influence over me that helped when I felt desperate, and I could always sense it, even when we were separated by that damn front door of hers. It was in the air, ever present, and for the most part, I was grateful to even have the slightest bit of intangible essence to exist with.

Bella wasn't exactly a touchy-feelly type of person, so her ways of offering comfort were rather strange but endearing all the same. By day three, she'd taken to putting the radio by the front window closest to the porch swing, so that I could listen along to NPR with her. It was a small gesture, but it was concrete in a way. It connected me to her, and that was something positive to hold onto as I sat there and shook violently every other hour.

Sometimes I'd see her pale little hand placing a cup of tea outside the screen door before she'd scurry back inside, and I'd smile, thinking how ridiculous this all was. I wanted to be angry at her for being aloof and purposely avoiding me, but I knew that anger was a dumb, useless emotion. And when it came to Bella, I couldn't ever picture myself losing my temper around her or because of her. I actually paled at the thought as my brain provided an image of a scared, fragile Bella backing into a corner. The object of her fear being me.

I shook my head and sipped the bitter tea she'd so kindly offered. No, I would never let myself be angry around Bella. I'd never want to see her fearful of anything, especially my presence.

It was on a Tuesday, a week into my unexpected sobriety, when Bella finally stepped out onto the porch to greet me. I'd been sitting on the swing with my legs draped out in front of me in a lazy posture, reading a book. I hadn't heard the door and she'd caught me off guard by speaking before I saw her tiny feet making their way towards me.

"What are you reading?"

I jumped, knocking over the empty mug of tea leaves at my feet. It thudded and rolled for a beat along the deck's floorboards before its handle halted the progress of its escape. I wanted to curse at my spastic reaction, but held it in. Being jumpy came with the territory when one was lucid and alert all the fucking time. I'd just hadn't gotten used to it yet.

"_Midnight in The Garden of Good and Evil_," I stammered out with a smirk, trying to recover.

"You miss Georgia?" she asked, her head tilting to the side to peek at the cover.

"Yeah. My grandparents mostly. They had a house in Savannah."

Bella didn't make a move to come sit with me on the swing, but instead rocked on her heels and shoved her hands into the front pockets of her hoodie. "Had?" she prompted, her face scrunching up in curious concern.

"They're not dead, just...we don't talk anymore."

She nodded, but the question was still blatantly written all over her face. I sighed and closed the book.

"It was my decision. I stopped communicating with everyone back home when I left." Bella's expression didn't soften or dawn with understanding, instead it somehow started to look more intrigued, the more cryptic I became. Not that I expected her to suddenly understand; I knew I was being vague.

_Alright, I guess it's sharing hour_, I said to myself before putting the book down altogether and leaning forward, placing my elbows on my knees.

"Something happened back home that kinda changed me, I guess. Well, not kind of...it did.

"I'm not originally from Georgia, you know, I'm from Texas. My parents are in Texas, but I went to live with my grandparents in Savannah when I was twelve, to go to school there. It was a private school for boys, and it was as stuffy and as old fashioned as you can imagine. The only perk was getting to live with my gram and grandaddy. That and..."

I trailed off, not really wanting to say much else or mention the person I almost alluded to. It'd been a good day so far, and I'd missed Bella a whole fucking lot in the past week. I didn't want to think about my past, I wanted to focus on the time Bella was going to give me in the present.

With a shake of my head, I sat back on the swing and started to rock, letting the sounds and the movement soothe me as it always did. Bella didn't pry. Instead, she came over and sat with me on the swing, offering me a smile as she curled up on the seat.

That smile was what I'd been waiting for; what I'd been hoping for all week. It was a balm to the many sores and wounds I'd left gaping and exposed to the elements. I greedily soaked in all her small features could offer before it slipped away from me. Reminding myself that I didn't deserve any of her kindness only made me hold on tighter. I'd take what I could get while I could get it, because something as good as Bella never lasted for long. That was a lesson I'd already learned the hard way.

. . .

In the week that followed, Bella never did ask me why I stopped talking that day on the porch. It didn't surprise me. Bella was the sort of person who shared the details of her life when she felt the time was right for them, and not before. It made sense that'd she'd extend the same courtesy to others—she was selfless like that. Unfortunately, she also never offered to play her guitar for me, and I didn't have the balls to ask her again.

I did, however, find myself being thankful for the summer season, and stopped cursing the heat outright. The summer assured that I had all the time in the world to spend on Bella's front porch, and the weather—despite it being oppressive—was appropriate for such an exposed existence.

I'd taken to ignoring Rose whenever I'd hear her shrill voice emanate from her own front porch. She pestered me daily with whistles and taunts, jabs and insults. The only positive part of the whole charade occurred when Bella's little hand would appear near the window, turning up the dial on NPR to drown out her cries each day. That little stroke of defiance she'd exhibit always made me smile, and would coax the burn in my stomach down to a simmering, self-contained hum.

It was on such a day, after Rose had appeared and Bella had turned up the radio, that my determination to not overstep my bounds cracked, and I jumped up from my seat on the swing and dashed across the lawns to my house. Rose followed.

That wasn't my intention. I could hear her banging on the front door relentlessly, asking for attention, but I was already in the backyard walking towards my shed. Once I'd grabbed what I needed and locked up the shed door, I sneaked past the alleyway between Bella's house and mine, bypassing Rose entirely. With a small smile of triumph on my face from eluding Rose, I knocked gently on Bella's back screen door. Her shocked face popped up from the kitchen table and she stared at me, frozen for a few minutes while I stood outside, waiting for entry.

I'd been feeling jumpy and itchy all day. My knees bounced and my fingers curled of their own accord. I was jonesing for something, and my body intrinsically knew what it was, but I refused to acknowledge it. Bella had somehow trained me to not allow myself to think of drinking while on her property, and I liked being tamed. I wasn't going to give up now, and I sure as hell wasn't going to head back to my house where the need called to me along with the banshee at the front door.

"Can I come in?" I asked, trying to keep my voice free of anticipation. Bella was chewing on her lip, mulling over her options I supposed as I waited patiently, dropping my eyes and taking a step back from the screen. I didn't want to intimidate her, though, I'm sure the two guitars I held in my hands had done a right fine job of that already.

I took deep breaths as I waited, attempting to keep my cool demeanor in check, not wanting to start shaking in front of her. I never wanted to appear weak or out of control in front of Bella, knowing that she'd dealt with those emotions and shortcomings enough in her life. I wanted to be the exception to the rule, badly.

"Where did you get those?" Bella's small voice asked, interrupting my inner struggle and distracting me from it.

"My shed," I offered.

"You keep guitars in your shed?"

I nodded.

"Isn't that...I mean, the weather?" Bella asked.

"The only money I spent on the place when I moved in was having that shed soundproofed and climate controlled." I wept when I wrote that check. Lawd.

Bella didn't say anything, but her eyebrows practically shot up off her head.

"It's actually a really nice place to hang out in on a hot day. If not a little cramped." Silence fell, and I kicked myself for sounding suggestive. It was a full, agonizing twenty seconds before Bella spoke again in her whisper of a voice.

"How many do you own?"

"Seven."

"Seven guitars?"

"More than just them, actually. I keep all my instruments in my shed. And course books, and compositions—"

"Compositions?" Bella's voice was filled with surprise.

I nodded. "I had dreams of being a composer as a kid, but it turns out, I'm not that good."

"Is that what you do? For a living?"

"No, I'm a music theory professor at a conservatory about an hour from here."

"Whoa," she said, all adorable. Her eyes were large and blinking at me as if she were an owl. I couldn't help the smirk that came over my face.

"Shocking, isn't it?"

"No," she said, trying to recover. "It's just...I...I don't know."

I snorted. "I understand. I've only been on staff for this past semester. I'm still in the 'trial stage' of my employment with them."

"Do you think they'll keep you?"

"I hope so."

"Well, that's good."

"Bella, could we have this conversation inside, please?" I asked, feeling like a baby, but worried that Rose was going to pop up any minute on either mine or her own back porch and blow my cover.

Bella had already jumped up from the table as I scanned the surrounding area for enemy combatants. I didn't even notice the screen door being opened until it nearly hit me in the nose. With a small self-conscious smile, and a "thank you," I stepped inside Bella's house gratefully.

She was eyeing the guitars as if they were a set of bombs that needed to be disarmed and thrown into the ocean immediately. My smirk only widened at her nerves. They were endearing to me, and for some reason, I knew that she wasn't going to say no to my next question.

"Please don't ask me to play," she said, her forehead creased with worry lines and her eyes closed.

"I won't."

Her eyes popped open. "You won't?"

"No."

"Then what's with the twins?" she asked, pointing to the matching guitars in my hands.

I shrugged all nonchalant like and sat down at the kitchen chair, opposite from the one she'd been occupying. "Just felt like bringing them both over. Twins don't like to be separated, you know."

Bella rolled her eyes and walked towards the fridge to grab a pitcher, and picked up a clean glass from the drying rack next to the sink. She lifted both in her hands with her eyebrows raised, and I nodded with a smile.

Bella made the best sweet tea there was, in my opinion. Getting a glass from her was like being offered to hold audience with the Queen. Or at least, that's how my Gram would see it.

When both of us had a full glass of tea with a slice of lemon placed on top, Bella sat back down and continued her cautious appraisal of the guitars. I handed one to her without giving her a glance, and placed the other on my lap like I would cradle a child.

Without looking up, or asking anything of Bella, I started to strum and pluck at the strings, adjusting the tuning of the guitar as I went. When I was finished I handed the tuned guitar to Bella and took the other one from her hands in one smooth motion. She looked bewildered but not overwhelmed. Good.

"Can you do me a favor?" I asked, giving her a small smile. Bella merely blinked at me. "Can you strum that a few times, I wanna tune them to each other."

"Just strum it?"

I nodded. "Yup, just give her some love. This won't take me long, promise."

Bella's eyes landed on a pick that I'd placed on the table when she went to fill up our glasses. She picked it up without thinking, muscle memory, and started to play the guitar with a gentle rhythm. She paused every once in a while as I adjusted the tuning to the one in my hands, letting me hear the strings individually, and all together, like a pro. I smiled at her every time she'd pause, putting more care into my guitar than was ever necessary, but I didn't want this to end.

When the two guitars were tuned perfectly to each other, we strummed together, letting the harmonizing tones filter over us. Bella smiled with her eyes closed as the intoxicating sound echoed throughout the room and I melted a bit in my chair. That smile had quickly become the most important thing in my life.

.

.

.

* * *

A/N: _Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil_ was written by John Berendt.

*sigh* I only have two more pre-written chapters for this ditty. Then several other scenes from various other chapters, including the crux of the story. Well, the first big one anyway. There will be two.

In other words, I gotta get writing if I'm gonna keep up this nice once-a-week update deal. You guys like the weekly updates, right?

*foozles all*

Ciao!


	9. Chapter 9: Connect, Disconnect

A/N: I'm back! And I'm late. I know. But, really. I think you'll thank me, cause I've given you one less day to wait for the next update. Think of it that way. :-)

Both Riri and Chicklette went over this chapter because I was so nervous about it. I thank you both profusely. *hugs*

**I'm issuing an actual warning here, people.** The entire section after the chapter break involves somewhat upsetting subject matter. If you don't want to read it, just skip it, and I'll summarize what happens down at the bottom for you.

See you down there.

* * *

.

.

.

My eyes closed as the sounds of twin guitars swirled around me.

Music was such a peaceful thing. Why did memories of my mother have to taint it? Shaking my head, I continued to strum the guitar in my hands with more force, determined to remember this moment as my own. Something I'd shared with Jasper and no one else.

Peeking through my lashes up at him, I saw his lips pulled into a half smirk as he carefully averted his gaze from mine. It seemed as if he were trying to not let his satisfaction show, but was failing miserably. I couldn't help the small tsk of laughter at seeing him studying the patterns on the tin ceiling above us as opposed to acknowledging the obvious: me playing guitar despite my earlier statement of saying I wouldn't.

Feeling a bit reckless and emboldened by that damn smirk, I closed my eyes once again and started to hum. The chair Jasper was sitting in creaked with his sudden movement, and I smiled at the sound of his surprise. Shocking him was a rather fun way to kill some time.

Coming to the end of the phrase, I switched up my fingers on the frets and turned my hums into lyrics. "... _Jolene, I'm begging of you please don't take my man. _

_Your beauty is beyond compare with flaming locks of auburn hair, with ivory skin, and eyes of emerald green..._ You're not singing Jasper." I chanced a glance in his direction and had to hold back the bit of laughter that threatened to escape as I played. Jasper's face was priceless in that moment. All shock and awe with his slack-jaw and wide eyes.

"Sing or I'm stopping, Jasper," I said, replaying the bridge so he'd have another chance to pick up the next line. I had no idea where my bravado was coming from, but Jasper's fumbling fingers as he ran a hand through his too long hair before finding the correct chords made it worth it. He was flustered and not from the lack of alcohol in his system, but from being bullied by a girl. The natural social exchange looked good on him.

"Um shit," he cursed while trying to jump in, and I smiled at how the tables had turned. "Ah._..a breath of spring, your voice is soft as summer rain, and I cannot compete with you, Jolene_."

Jasper's voice echoed the years he spent pouring whiskey down his throat, with a rasp and a hint of grit behind the deep tones that curled around the words as he sang. I was almost late picking up the next line from watching him, but Jasper beat me to it, and together we tripped over the next few lyrics in an iffy harmony that soon blended with the heat in the air, tangling us in it's web.

Having kept my eyes focused on the strings for most of the song, so as not to see Jasper watching me, I let out a sigh of relief when the final chord hummed to a close. I'd felt compelled to not break the intangible connection that had been created during those few minutes, and the fear of that compulsion had my heart racing. Slumping in my chair, I looked up at Jasper through dazed eyes, needing to drink my tea to cool down, but not having the energy to reach over and pick up the damn glass.

"You're incredible," Jasper whispered out on an exhale, shocking me out of my stupor.

"Oh." I blinked, sitting up straight as the chair creaked. That did it. The spell broke, and with it went the comfort we'd found.

Jasper reached a hand out while fumbling for words before retracting it and scratching the back of his neck. "I...uh, sorry. I meant that your voice and your playing. Your playing and voice are incredible. Natural. Really, Bella..." he trailed off, looking pained and embarrassed, nothing like his normal cocky self.

Despite my own suddenly self-conscious feelings around him, I let a small laugh slip from my lips. Jasper's eyes shot up from their noncommittal spot on the kitchen table. He looked more confused than ever, it only endeared him to me more.

"Jasper, stop torturing yourself, it's okay," I said, trying to placate him.

An awkward bit of laughter left him, while he continued to rub the back of his neck. He didn't look any less pained, but he was trying.

"I don't want to ever make you uncomfortable, Bella."

His honesty shushed me up right quick. I didn't know how to respond to such a noble statement as that, but I nodded just the same.

Needing something to do, other than stare at the strange man in front of me before the air could thicken with even more uneasy tension, I picked up the glass of sweet tea that had been forgotten on the table and chugged the damn thing. The chill of the liquid made my head hurt and my throat almost burn, but it cooled me off and gave me an excuse to shut my eyes. The sight of Jasper being, dare I say, chivalrous in front of me was unnerving.

When I finished, Jasper too was drinking his tea, but his eyes had remained open, and his gaze was on me. Great.

"Would you like some more?" I asked. I didn't bother waiting for a reply before putting the guitar down, shoving back from my seat, and grabbing both our glasses. Luckily, Jasper had just come up for air, so I didn't have to worry about him spilling anything on his guitar.

"Actually," he said, making me halt in my crusade to the fridge. "I should go."

I spun on my heel to face him. I didn't want him to leave. Was that what he thought?

Shit, I really didn't want him to go and that realization was somewhat troublesome to the small portion of my brain that focused on my self-preservation.

Jasper stood, moving both guitars to the wall before shoving his hands in his pockets and facing me again. "Don't want those to get wet," he said by way of explanation. I furrowed my brow at him and he gestured out the back door. It was raining. I hadn't noticed.

"Thank you, Bella, for the tea and your company. I'll leave you be now." Jasper's voice sounded foreign; too polite, too proper. He also walked out the front door instead of the back, which for reasons beyond my mental capacity bugged me. Guests walked out the front door, not Jasper. Jasper wasn't a guest, he was my...neighbor.

I shook my head. Whatever he was, he shouldn't have to walk out the front door just like anybody else would. God, why was I so focused on that?

Stalking across the living room, I pushed open the screen to watch him go. He jogged across the lawn to his porch before shaking out his wet hair like a shaggy dog would. His shirt was soaked and clung to him. The sight of it made me think the irrational thought that he must be cold, and that I should get him a towel.

"Ugh," I grunted before stepping back into my own home and hitting myself in the head with the heel of my palm, trying to get ahold of myself. Jasper wasn't a child, he could get his own damn towel if he needed it.

Two hours later the fact that Jasper had left so suddenly was still eating away at me. I was curled up on my sofa, having a staring contest with Loretta as I pondered what to do. I knew what I wanted, but the rest of me warred with that instinct, trying to get me to take the high road. What the high road was, however, I wasn't sure. I just knew that my instincts were telling me to go over to his house to sort it all out, while my conscience was pfft'ing at me left and right for being such a damn girl who analyzed things way too much.

Ten more minutes passed as Loretta blew bubbles at me from her little circular home and I bit my nails down to their quicks.

With a final sigh, I shoved off the sofa and darted to the front door to wrench it open. I was on my front porch before I realized that I needed shoes. Turning, I spotted my pair of galoshes by the door and was tugging them on when the sound of a screen slapping against a frame caught my ears. My head snapped up and looked out towards Rose's house.

"Dammit," I cursed as she walked down the steps with her head held high. The rain had stopped, and the sky had cleared enough to let the colors of dusk pierce the low hanging clouds. Rose was wearing a rather short day dress, with soft yellow flowers sprinkled throughout the pattern of the skirt and a long zipper that ran down the entire front. Seeing it had me thinking one thing: easy access.

I clenched my fists.

She walked across my lawn and past my porch without even glancing in my direction, her long blond hair swinging behind her as she went. My anger grew the closer she got to Jasper's house, wishing she'd just trip and hit her head hard enough on the ground to put herself in a coma already.

Surprised at my own thoughts, I took a step back from my somewhat aggressive position and breathed deep. Anger was a useless emotion, I told myself as I regressed further into the shadows of my porch. My left boot lay forgotten on the floorboards.

Rose raised her tan, slender fist and struck several loud raps on Jasper's door before standing demurely with her hands behind her back to wait. Jasper opened the door immediately, his face filled with anticipation. He had started to say something, but whatever it was, the words died in his throat the moment he realized who was in front him before his face turned into a scowl.

I slipped in between the two adirondack chairs and peeked my head out above one arm. Rose and Jasper's voices weren't carrying all too well above the wind that had replaced the rain, and I strained to follow what they were saying.

"What are you doing here?" Jasper asked, his jaw tight.

"I was lonely, thought I'd come over for a visit."

"Sorry to disappoint you, but I was just heading out." Jasper said, his eyes darting in the direction of my house. I flinched, thinking he might have seen me and ducked further down behind the chairs.

"Why head out? I've got the party right here," Rose purred lifting a bottle out of the bag she'd been carrying in her opposite hand. I hadn't noticed it during her trek across my lawn. Seeing the alcohol made me fume. I had been trying to hold back my anger but Rose was the fucking personification of temptation. Jasper had done so well in the past few weeks, and yet Rose had the damn audacity to stand there dangling single-malt in his face?

"Bitch," I breathed out as my fingers clenched around the arm of the chair in front of me. Jasper had been saying something to her while my blood boiled and I tried to focus on the words but the fact that I'd gotten so angry at the sight of her and the bottle scared me. I reminded myself that this wasn't my fight and that my anger would only turn into disappointment if I had to watch Jasper crack under the pressure.

I wouldn't watch that; I couldn't.

Standing up too fast, my back hit the chair behind me, causing it to scrape back on the floorboards and for me to cry out suddenly at the pain. I clamped my hand over my mouth the second I'd realized I'd made a sound, my eyes wide as they took in the scene of Jasper and Rose staring at me from his front porch.

I bit my fingers, covering up the pitiful whimper of being caught and darted inside as fast as I could. Slamming the door behind me, I locked it and turned, sliding down until I hit the floor with a pathetic thud. My back burned from where it hit the chair and my eyes stung with the prickling of tears threatening to spill over. I shook my head and clamped my eyes shut, refusing to cry.

The image of Rose tempting Jasper with more than just liquor was a persistent pest in my mind, even as I tried to push it away. It reminded me too much of my own mother and her pitiful attempts at seducing the many men I'd seen her fawn over while growing up. Each time a new one came through the door, I would hide in a far corner of our house, covering my ears from the noise, wondering which one, if any, were my father. Hoping that maybe the man she brought home that night or the next would be more than just a warm body to her.

Hope, like anger, was useless emotion. I had hoped that one of those men would help my mother exorcise her demons, but they all just seemed to add to them...and mine. I should have learned then. Hoping Jasper wouldn't relapse was more of a pipe dream than I'd ever imagined.

Stopping that train of thought, I reminded my sad little self that he hadn't accepted the bottle from Rose's hand. He hadn't done anything except see me spying on them like a pathetic voyeur.

With a groan, I fell to the side and curled up in a ball on the floor. Loretta was staring at me from her perch on the bookshelf, and I locked onto her beady eyes, challenging her to another staring contest. I needed the distraction. The lazy bubbles she created with her tail and little "o" mouth soothed me the best they could as I held myself together with nothing but my own hands and will.

When my eyelids drooped and Loretta's red and blue fins turned to swirls of black, I didn't question it. I fell into the darkness, whole.

. . .

"Bella...Bella!" I woke up with a start. My mother was calling my name.

Uncurling myself from the ball I'd fallen asleep in, I stepped out of my bedroom and walked down the hall, smelling alcohol, sweat and heady musk. The air was ripe with the stench that normally permiated the house after men visited my mother. I'd come to dread it and the associations it brought forth in my memory.

"Bella!" She screamed again, this time accompanied with a loud thud and a moan that made my stomach drop. There was a grunt of a man's voice and heavy footfalls in the kitchen.

My mother wasn't alone.

Darting into my mother's bedroom, I grabbed the phone off the bedside table and dialed the numbers 911 on autopilot. Whoever was getting thrown around out there wasn't enjoying it and my mother's screams were becoming louder by the second. Panic tore through me. I shook violently as a deep voice bellowed for her to shut up and my hands started to rattle the receiver as I held it to my mouth, praying they'd pick up soon.

A woman answered on the third ring, her voice professional and emotionless. I whimpered into the phone, trying to keep my words low and steady as I told her that someone was in my house attacking my mother. The woman's voice cut through my panic with sharp assurance as the sounds of typing started up rapid fire in the background.

"Where are you in the house?" she asked.

"Bedroom."

"Where's your mother?"

"Kitchen."

"Police are on their way. I'm going to stay on the line with you. Can you lock yourself in the bathroom?"

"No." Not without being heard or seen. I could barely get out the syllable as another scream ripped through the air followed by a man's cry. My mother was fighting back apparently. The woman heard it and her voice turned deadly as a knife's blade.

"Hide."

Scrambling on all fours, I wedged myself underneath my mother's bed as best I could, bringing the phone with me. Footfalls were coming closer to the room as I tucked myself up into a protective ball, cradling the phone in my hands like a lifeline. The door to the bedroom slammed open the next second and I stifled a squeal behind my hand. It wouldn't have mattered, the amount of noise created by my mother's limp body being dragged to the bed and the man's grunts as he carried her, covered up even my own sniffles as the tears started.

A sag on the mattress above me caused me to shove back further, away from the bow of the bed. The man's boots were directly in front of me and I listened with horror as the sounds of a belt buckle being unlatched and a zipper being drawn down hit the air.

The slow rasp of the metal teeth unlocking one by one was like a deadly countdown in my head.

My mother made no noise as the man mounted the bed, his boots disappearing from my view and I slammed my eyes shut and my shoved my hands over my ears, desperate to make time stop. Shaking and sobbing with silent tears I tried to cut out the noise above me, not knowing what to do or where to run when the bed started to squeak with movement.

At the first sounds of the sirens, I screamed.

.

.

.

* * *

A/N: Hello again. To those of you who skipped that last section, it was a flashback to Bella's home life with her mother. There was an incident with a man her mother had brought home who got too rough with her, and Bella had to call 911 and hide under the bed, waiting for the cops to come while hearing everything that happened. Needless to say, it wasn't a pleasant evening.

As for the rest of y'all, would you like a hug? Maybe a cupcake or a puppy? I'm sorry for the angst. I promise resolution next chapter.

*runs away to hide*


	10. Chapter 10: Running Towards the Sound

A/N: Back! It's a little late in the day, I know, but it's a holiday. I hope everyone got to celebrate by eating some good food and watching fireworks. :-)

Riri, thank you my love. *foozles her beta*

Enjoy!

* * *

.

.

.

Screams.

Loud, blood-curdling screams were coming from Bella's house and my immediate instinct was to bang the door down and anything else that dared to step in my way to get to her.

Rose had somehow forced her way into my home about ten minutes before the screams started, using pity as her ammunition. We'd seen Bella run into her own house after a noise had distracted me in my crusade of getting Rose off my damn property. The sight of Bella distraught had me pushing past Rose, heading for the porch steps, but she grabbed my arms and shoved me back inside, using my distraction as her opening to make a move. I seethed at her as she told me to ignore "the little sneak" next door, brandishing the alcohol in her hand as bait for me to bite.

Grabbing hold of the bottle I chucked it back outside, hearing the dull thud of it hitting the wet grass. I swayed on my heels as I counted down from ten in my head to try and quell my immediate and extreme anger at seeing the damn thing. It churned up feelings of need and want in my gut, feelings I'd been desperately pushing down for weeks. Rose, undeterred by my seething disapproval, perched herself on my couch like she owned it and hiked up her skirt another few inches, because apparently that scrap of fabric she called clothing wasn't short enough for her liking.

I found myself not giving a shit as she created lines of the coke she'd brought with her, along with the whiskey, on a pocket mirror. Eying the razor blade in her hand as she ground the coke into a finer dust and arranged it into four perfect little rows, made my stomach twist. I wasn't taking part in any of her games anymore: the booze, the drugs, or the easy sex she offered daily. I hadn't wanted any of it for months, and since I'd gotten sober, I really fucking despised Rose for her constant come-ons. At least when I'd been plastered, her voice had been dulled and her form blurry. She was so much easier to take drunk.

When Bella's cries hit the air and Rose didn't even bother to flinch in acknowledgement I spat on the floor with disgust. Looking at her with livid eyes as the sounds of Bella's distress didn't even seem to register to her, practically caused a growl to rip from my throat. I turned on my heel and stalked out the back door with my fists clenched.

Rose called after me, but her voice wasn't the one I cared about. Never had been.

Running across the yards, past the garbage cans in the alley, and the washer and dryer on Bella's back porch, I slammed in through the screen door, searching out the origin of Bella's cries and who might have been causing them. My first reaction to seeing her curled up against the front door was relief that I hadn't tried to break in through it, since I would have harmed her if I had.

In five long strides I was crouched down beside her, my hands hovering over her shoulders as panic rose in my throat. She was shaking and pale. I touched a hand to her forehead and felt nothing but clammy skin and a searing fever. Her eyes were clamped shut and her brows were drawn together in something that looked a hell of a lot like pain. The nightmare she was living needed to end. Now.

As gentle as I could force myself to be, I shook her shoulders, trying to get her to wake. She curled into an impossibly tighter ball and sobbed out another cry. I shoved my hands in my hair thinking that I was too dry to handle this and then wanted to slap myself for even entertaining the thought of having a drink while in Bella's home.

God, I was not the savior she needed. I wasn't stable enough, and certainly not strong enough to be a rock for her. Something she was in desperate need of, judging by the terror occurring behind her closed eyes.

Another cry brought me out of my self-pity and back into action.

Leading with instinct, I picked the small girl up off the floor and cradled her to my chest with unsteady arms, rocking her back and forth through her sobs and whimpers. The screams died the moment I enveloped her in my arms. The instantaneous reaction surprised me before I reckoned that a soothing touch was the kind of solace she needed at that moment.

It was simple logic: someone as upset as Bella needed a fucking hug. Period.

Running with that knowledge, I picked us both up off the floor and carried her to the sofa, where I sat and arranged Bella in my lap so that I could hold her closer. She felt too small, too fragile in my arms, and that worried me. Had she been eating enough? Did this kind of nightmare happen often?

Question after question rolled through my brain as I smoothed the messy strands of sweat soaked hair off her forehead. She needed to wake up.

"Bella, please wake up," I spoke into the now quiet room, resting my chin on her head. Her little hands were clinging to my shirt, blunt nails scraping into my skin, but I didn't care. All I wanted at that moment was for her to wake up.

"Bella," I spoke a little louder, shaking her a bit more as I rocked her in my lap.

She jerked with a start, her head hitting my chin causing me to bite my tongue as her back sat up bolt straight in my lap. She gasped before her hands clung to me harder in panic, and looked around the room, eyes darting everywhere. When they landed on me, her anxious gaze widened and she scrambled back on my legs, almost falling.

I caught her before she could tumble, ass over feet to the floor, and pulled her back to me, shushing her and her fears.

"Shh...it's okay, darlin'." She fought my embrace for only a moment before she slumped and breathed out heavily into the room. Shaking her head back and forth, she quickly swiped at the tears that were no doubt spilling from her eyes and held I her tighter for it.

In truth, I didn't want to let her go, but I continued to operate under the assumption that she needed the physical reassurance, and ignored the denial meter that was calling "bullshit" in my brain.

"You wanna talk about it?" I asked, soft as I could. She shook her head and I rocked her some more. Silence followed.

"Your heart's pounding," she said out of nowhere a few minutes later. I almost laughed at her quiet concern, irrationally giddy from the insanity of earlier. The day had been a cluster fuck of an emotional roller coaster.

"You scared me." I told the truth hoping she'd grant me the same courtesy when she felt up to it. Lord knew I wasn't going to push.

"What happened?"

"You screamed. Over and over. I found you on the floor in a ball."

She shuddered at the words and clung to my arms before realizing how tight she was clutching on me and let up, dropping her hands.

"No," I said, saddened that she wasn't relying on me as much as she could, as much as I wanted her to. "It's okay," I encouraged her.

Slowly, her hands came back up, holding onto me as she sat sideways in my lap. A moment later, her face burrowed into my shirt, her nose nuzzling my chest in a childlike way. There was nothing suggestive about her embrace; she needed comfort and a safe place to fall. I was lucky enough to represent both to her in that moment, and I smiled into her hair, happy to be of service.

. . .

Orange was blinding me, coloring my entire world with tangerine, and I hunkered down, away from the onslaught of the garish color. My nose buried itself into silky strands of strawberry scented hair, and I breathed it deep into my lungs, enjoying the subtle sweetness. The orange dimmed, but the color persisted before I realized that my eyes were closed and the source of the color was light streaming in through my eyelids. Blinking slowly and feeling groggy, I turned my head in the direction of the light, hoping to snap off the lamp or whatever the hell it was so I could get back to sleep.

I looked out a window covered in sheer curtains, surrounded by white molding and sage green walls. The sun was hanging low over the ocean, piercing my eyes with it's morning shine, and the location of it was slightly to the left of where I normally saw it sit over the horizon.

I wasn't in my house.

Something stirred next to me, nuzzling into my chest and squirming closer to my now achingly aware body. I looked down in a slight panic, realizing I'd spent the night with Bella in my arms and that we were currently curled around each other on her couch.

Well, shit. Wasn't this an interesting way to wake up? On the one hand, I wanted to smile myself silly with the knowledge that Bella trusted me enough to fall asleep in my arms and that we passed the night together in such a chaste and yet intimate way. Her legs were twisted in mine, our thighs joined at the hips with Bella's small feet pressing in my calves for warmth. My hands were clinging to her back, holding her impossibly close while her head was tucked underneath my chin; her breath fanning across my neck. It all felt so utterly perfect and soothing that I sighed with happiness like a damn idiot.

Really, who got that happy over breathing? Apparently, I did.

On the _other_ more rational hand, this particular situation could be construed as bad. Very bad. Bella wasn't the sort of person who'd normally fly with this kind of thing. At least, I didn't think she was. She was shy, introverted, and self-protecting. It took her weeks to actually become comfortable in my presence, and that trust was not something I wanted to lose because I'd been stupid enough to fall asleep with her in my arms while I tried to comfort her. Not to mention my own "what the fuck are you doing" conscience, which reminded me that I hadn't slept with a woman in my arms since I'd left the south and decided that Jack Daniels and Johnnie Walker were more preferable bedfellows.

Both of those arguments left me nowhere. I couldn't uncurl myself from her grasp without disturbing her, and frankly, I didn't want to. I also didn't want to risk waking her prematurely because she was sleeping soundly next to me without the slightest hint of tension in her body, and I wasn't about to ruin that because I had a mental freak out about what this all meant.

Bella seemed relaxed and content where she was. Considering the last time I saw her sleeping she was screaming down the roof, her current state of REM sleep was much preferred. For us both, I dared to assume.

Bella squirmed against me, trying to burrow further into my arms like a kitten would its mother. I found myself holding her tighter and tucking my head down to breathe in the smell of her hair once again. She relaxed as I held her close and the smile that spread across my face could have burned the house down it was so damn bright.

Shaking off the spontaneous bubbles of joy that wanted to erupt from my chest, I reminded myself that she obviously didn't realize who she was holding, or how tight I was holding her back. She was probably just enjoying the warmth. Her normal demeanor around me was still skittish and cautious.

_In other words, Jasper, this means nothing. _

_Also, stop referring to yourself in the third person, you self obsessed bastard._

With deliberate breaths, I attempted to calm myself, taking inventory of the things around me. The sun was low on the horizon, meaning it was still early yet in the morning. Everything seemed peaceful and quiet in Bella's home, nothing out of place, and the soft din of the ever present radio set to NPR drifted in from the kitchen. Bella's pet fish was staring daggers at me from its little circular home across the way, and I decided to challenge him or her to a staring contest to keep my mind off of the hypothetical for the time being.

Before I knew it, my eyelids were sinking low as my breaths evened out and Bella sighed softly in my arms. Sleep had come to take me again.

.

.

.

* * *

A/N: SEE! Progress. Happy times. I told you they'd come again. :-)


	11. Chapter 11: Waking Up

A/N: Hedow. Congrats to Spain! :-)

This chapter took forever for some reason. I hope you enjoy what's below.

Beta'd (as always) by the lovely Riri. Pre-read by the boobalicious Chicklette. *loves her girls*

* * *

.

.

.

I woke with a start, blinking as my eyes tried to focus on the pillow in front of me.

A pillow covered in plaid.

I didn't own plaid pillows.

The plaid pillow rose and fell with a soft breath, and as my eyesight continued to focus, I saw buttons and pockets and collarbones and jaw. A scruffy jaw, attached to a face I couldn't see since its nose was buried in my hair, preventing me from tilting my head up any further without disturbing the living, breathing plaid pillow in question.

Of course, at that point, I was awake enough to realize that my pillow was, in fact, male, and my brain was keenly aware of who that male was: Jasper.

I'd slept with Jasper.

Closing my eyes, I focused on remembering how I had ended up in this particular situation. Not that I needed to concentrate too hard; last night wouldn't fade from my memories anytime soon. The horrid dream that had left me screaming in a ball on my floor being the main event. I recalled Jasper finding me that way, and rocking me in his lap until I calmed down.

I guess I calmed down a little too much, considering we were both now curled around each other on the couch. Jasper was snoring ever so slightly with his nose still buried in my hair. The feeling of him exhaling tickled, and I smiled into his chest. It was a secret smile, meant only for me to hold onto when I needed a happy thought.

The smile didn't last. Jasper stirred beneath me the next second, and I panicked. His arms held me tighter as I squirmed, and his whiskey voice, roughed from sleep, spoke to me in soothing words tinged with a southern lilt. "Shh...darlin'."

I immediately stilled. Jasper had spoken. Jasper was awake.

_Shit. _

"No," he whispered next, and my head quirked in an involuntary motion on his chest. "You're tense. Don't want you to be tense." He was mumbling every word into my hair, tickling me, and despite my nerves, I smiled from the feeling.

"You're awake?" _Of course he is, Bella. He's conversing with you. _

_Who the hell uses the word 'conversing'? British much? _

_You're freaking out. Calm down. _

Jasper answered me then, effectively silencing my internal monologue. "Mmhmm."

I didn't know what to do. There wasn't exactly a rulebook I had lying around for this type of situation. Jasper's hands rubbed my back in soft, gentle circles, and my breath left me in a slow exhale.

"That's better," he sighed. After a few moments, his breathing had evened; he'd fallen back asleep. I felt calmer knowing he was asleep, and my mind drifted to thinking of how much of a drastic change this was from yesterday afternoon. I'd been so perturbed over the fact he'd left out the front door, and now he was holding me in his arms on my sofa. I wondered if this was a 'be careful what you wish for' moment, or was it just something sweet that I was trying to over analyze?

I titled my head, looking up at Jasper, so calm and serene next to me. Another involuntary smile crossed my face and I assumed that this predicament was the latter of my ponderings.

"What kinda music du'ya like?" Jasper rumbled out a moment later, with his eyes still closed and a smirk curving at his lips. I jumped in his arms, surprised. He'd been awake?

"Didn't mean to scare ya."

I shook my head in response, as if to say no, despite the fact that his eyes were closed and that my heart was pounding in my chest. My mouth felt dry. I attempted to give him some sort of an answer several times before giving up and turning my head away from him, embarrassed.

A gentle finger tilted my chin up so I was once again staring at Jasper, who was looking expectant but not rushed.

Jasper was never rushed, come to think of it. Slow and almost always smooth, like molasses or caramel, that was Jasper.

"I like slow things, that build gradually," I finally said.

"Do you?" He asked with a quirk of his head, amused.

"Yeah, as it heightens, grows, it becomes anticipatory and kinetic."

"You get a kinda stirring in your gut?"

"Yeah. But a good one."

"I get that."

"You do?"

He nodded. "That build. The feeling; I like it."

"Me too." I hid my face again, but this time in Jasper's shirt.

"You're an acoustic girl, though, right?"

"Mmmhmm," I mumbled into the soft plaid of his shirt.

"Nick Drake, Jeff Buckley...that kinda acoustic?"

"Joni Mitchell, Loretta Lynn...that kind too," I told him, smiling a little. He gave me a squeeze and my stomach tightened. It was not an unpleasant feeling.

_What are you doing, Bella? What is this? _

I didn't know.

"Coffee?" I asked.

"Mmmmm." His chest vibrated beneath me, sending shivers down my spine.

"Is that a yes?" My voice sounded like that of a scared mouse, squeaking up at the end and cracking on the last vowel.

He nodded. "Mmmhmm." Again with the vibration. My hand tightened its hold on his shirt without me realizing it.

Time to move.

I shot up as fast as I could out of his grasp, and I felt his hands try to hold me in protest. He let go the second I resisted, and I made my way into the kitchen quickly, trying to ignore the sadness on Jasper's face as I left him.

_Don't think about it_, I told myself. _Don't think._

. . .

I'd offered to take our mugs out on the porch. The sun was low in the sky, and there was a soft breeze coming off the water. The humidity had yet to set in for the day, and I wanted to savor the mild temperature before the sweltering noon day sun rose to greet us. I wouldn't admit it to myself, but I also wanted to get as far away from my couch as I could without actually leaving my property. Just looking at it made my stomach do weird things I wasn't yet prepared to ponder.

Jasper seemed happy that I hadn't kicked him out on his ass after waking up and kept his distance as I worked in the kitchen. He smiled at me when I handed him his steaming mug of coffee, and I looked down quickly, feeling a flush come over my skin.

The Bostonian humor of NPR's Car Talk filled in the spaces where Jasper and I couldn't seem to find words of our own, not that either of us ever really spoke much when we sat on the porch. I'd laugh into my cup at the banter, and Jasper's face would light up when I did. I was glad that he was in so good a mood, despite the stress of the previous night that I'd caused, but I still found myself wondering why his attentions were so focused on me. It made me anxious. As if I needed more of that emotion in my life.

"What?" I finally asked after I caught him smirking at me again.

"Your laugh."

"What about it?"

"I don't think I've ever heard it before." His grin never left his face as he spoke.

"Oh." Why did that make me feel so self conscious?

"I like your laugh, Bella. It's nice to hear."

I peeked at him through the curtain of my hair that I'd been trying to hide behind.

"I wish I could hear it more."

How does one respond to such a statement? I blinked at him a few times before attempting humor to disperse the sudden tight feeling in the air around us.

"Guess we should listen to more Car Talk, then?"

He snorted and pushed his long legs to rock himself on the swing. He'd offered me a spot next to him when he sat down, but I opted for one of the Adirondack chairs. It felt safer, emotionally, to keep my distance. Mostly because I had wanted to say yes, and that scared me.

We'd been silent for a few minutes, listening to the radio and the surf crashing in the distance. Jasper had been watching the waves break over the sand, content it seemed, just to sit with me when he spoke up, "Bella, what you saw last night..."

I was startled out of my quiet moment observing him, and had to put down my cup on the side table. My hands had started to shake instantly at his words. I sat on them.

Jasper had paused, but then continued, with his eye still focused out on the horizon. "She had a bottle with her. I threw it out of the house the second I saw it. I want you to know that."

I nodded, even though Jasper wasn't looking at me, it was the only reaction I could offer. My throat had gone dry.

To my horror, he continued. "I was scared, Bella. Petrified. It felt like a magnet, drawing me in." A magnet that was being wielded by Rose. My nerves were momentarily replaced by a flare of anger.

"You screamed, though. The sound leveled me faster than any punch and brought with it a whole new level of fear." He turned to me then, his face contorted with the emotion he was trying to express. I could feel it, it was heavy, pressing down on us both.

I started to shake my head back and forth, the movement becoming an involuntary repetition. I didn't like where this was going. I was proud of him for pushing temptation away, but I didn't want to talk about what happened to me last night.

"I won't ask, Bella. Don't worry."

A whimper escaped me, and I closed my eyes, blocking out his image.

"I'm sorry, Jasper." My voice broke when I spoke his name. I realized too late that I was crying. Jasper might be petrified of drinking, but I was terrified of becoming too attached to a man who would forever be fighting an internal struggle to not drink himself to death like my mother had.

"No," he said. I heard him stand up from the swing and come towards me. "No. Shh..." He scooped me up before I knew what was happening and held me to him as if comforting me were something he'd been doing for years. We slumped back into the chair with my legs falling over the arm and my head resting on his shoulder.

"I don't want to be the reason for your bad dreams, Bella."

"You're not."

"That's what you're scared of, though."

I stuttered on my reply, nodded my head, and buried my face in his chest. I didn't want to get used to this, I didn't want to rely on him, to need him, but I felt trapped and protected all the same time and it broke me. I wilted into his arms, like a puppet being cut loose from its strings, and gave up whatever semblance of a fight I had left against keeping myself afloat on my own.

Jasper ran his fingers through my hair and held me close; I let him. I needed the comfort, yes, but I wasn't hysterical like last night, I could have held it together, I could have untangled myself from him, but I didn't. The lines had officially been blurred, and I'd let it happen.

Christ.

A few silent, calming minutes passed us by before thunder rumbled in the sky as my belly simultaneously growled with hunger. Jasper chuckled into my hair, tickling me with his breath for the second time that day. I smiled through my drying tears.

The serendipitous weather mixed with my body's call for food broke the heavy atmosphere that'd been hovering over us on the porch, and I felt then that maybe this situation wouldn't swallow me whole like last time.

I dared to hope.

Jasper kept his arm around me as we walked inside to look for breakfast. I knew there was nothing in my kitchen, I hadn't ordered anything to be delivered in at least two weeks, but Jasper insisted that he feed me. I didn't know how to react to that.

"I've got food. I'll be right back."

"Jasper, that's silly. I'm fine." My stomach growled again in protest. I glared down at it; Jasper smiled.

"I want to cook breakfast for you, Bella. Please."

Jesus, well if he was going to stand there looking like a kicked puppy and say "please" like that, I really didn't know what to do. I found myself nodding before I could even formulate a response and he was out the door a second later.

I stared after him, feeling slightly dazed. It might have been the hunger. It might have been the waking up in his arms, or the sitting in his lap on the porch, or the way he tucked me under his chin whenever he held me; I couldn't be sure. But I watched him as he left, and one little detail managed to break through the haze...

Jasper had used the back door.

.

.

.

* * *

A/N: Can't tell you how much I love writing progress between these two. Even if it is like pulling teeth.

Okay, I need to take a moment here and SQUEE because Bourbon and Tea got reviewed/rec'd on Altered Lions and Sacrificial Lambs, and I'm just all kinds of giddy about it! *bounces* Thank you to MissMaj who wrote the review. *foozles and hugs* We love her. Oh yes we dooooo.

It's linked it on my profile. :-)

Next week brings with it a Jasper flashback - smoke, blues, and a dance with the red-lipped devil.

Till then... *foozles*


	12. Chapter 12: The Devil Come to Dance

A/N: Venis Envy said this morning on twitter that today needed to be a Bourbon and Tea day. Well, my love, here's the chapter, I hope you enjoy. :-)

Riri, my love, beta'd. *foozles* I made her spit out her coke at one point. I hope you didn't get your laptop sticky. *hands over a wet-one.* Hehe.

* * *

.

.

.

"That's silly, Jasper. I'm fine," Bella pleaded, forever being selfless. Her stomach, however, had other plans, and growled, giving her away. I smiled. What a cute little belly.

Making sure to keep my eyes as puppy-like as possible, I asked if I could please cook for her and she relented, blinking at me with surprise.

I was out the door before she could react, running down the steps of her back porch and across the lawn to my house within seconds. I might have been a tad too eager to do this whole morning-after-breakfast cliché, but it couldn't be a cliché if the circumstances didn't really allow the title of "morning after" to actually be a legitimate morning after. Right?

I ran my hand through my hair, wondering if my last stream of thought even made a lick of sense. After mulling it over for another full second, I decided it didn't. All I knew was that Bella let me hold her, comfort her. She melted into my body on the porch and I did my damned best to reassurance her like I so desperately wanted to. She'd accepted me, and something had shifted in our relationship on that porch. That something, whatever it was, was causing this instinct inside of me that told me to feed her, care for her, love her if she'd let me.

I paused at the screen door of my own back porch, surprised by my sudden vehemence. I was walking on some dangerous territory with thoughts like those, but I shook it off. Even if my brain was throwing it out there without my say so, it didn't mean I was ready for it.

_Too heavy. Don't think about the heavy, focus on the food._

Yes, food I could do. Food I could give to her. She could accept a meal. A meal was neighborly, and I was a neighbor. This all worked. Yes.

I nodded, satisfied with my own inner ramblings and opened the door, walked into the kitchen, and started rummaging through the cabinets. When I found the Bisquick, I might have slammed the door shut in a fit of joy, and I might have jumped a bit, but all semblance of triumph faded when an unpleasant moan filled the air.

Freezing on the spot, I put the box of pancake mix on the counter and turned to look out at my living room, which seemed a bit worse for wear compared to when I'd seen it last. Odd.

I realized the next second that contemplating the shambled state of the living room didn't matter when I spotted a blonde-haired, passed-out woman in the midst of the carnage.

Apparently, Rose hadn't left.

Well, fuck.

I moved closer, my eyes darting around the room as I went. It felt like a trap, but it wasn't as if the woman in front of me was going to be getting up anytime soon.

Seeing Rose like that, wasted and wrecked on my fucking futon did nothing but remind me of how pathetic I once had been. How close I'd been to waking up slumped against her in the same position. How, if it weren't for the girl who'd I just left next door, this would be my life. My sick and twisted and depraved almost life, wrapped around the long-legged devil on my futon.

How had I even been stupid enough to get involved with this tragic girl in desperate need of a z-pack of antibiotics and a 28 day stint in rehab? (She also probably needed someone to hug her and tell her she was worth more than all the shit she put her body through, but there was no way I was getting close enough to let her sink her talons into me again.)

The answer to that question was obvious. I could see it lying on the lawn just outside the front screen door—that bottle shining at me, slick in the rain; the white No.7 standing out in stark contrast to the black label. Whiskey. Plain and simple. I didn't indulge in anything worse or anything less for the most part, but it didn't matter. My Achilles heel had always been whiskey. Bourbon to be exact—Woodford Reserve was a favorite when I could afford it.

It had helped me cope, made me strong, and let me forget. The killing off of my brain's long-term memory was my ultimate goal for whenever I drank, yet, in an ironic twist of fate that occurred while staring at a dazed Rose on my futon, my memories were exactly the things that came blasting back into my frontal lobe. Assaulting me with color, sensation, taste and smell. Not destroyed, not forgotten, just shattered.

They ricocheted around my brain, bits and pieces of flashbacks to a time that seemed so far away, yet could be measured out by a separation of now and then with only mere months between them. Polaroids of images that made me cringe and still evoked a sense of nostalgia for the freedom I'd had. The total uninhibited sense of drunken clarity that only comes with a good and solid three quarters of a bottle of Jack in your stomach. That feeling is what I remembered most, and the night I'd met this damned girl on my sofa was a prime example of that clarity.

I had literally become comfortably numb...

. . .

Standing up on the small stage with the smoke stinging my eyes and the lights beating on my back, I gulped down the nerves in my gut with another swig of bourbon. The guitar was heavy in my hands and the crowd pressed in towards the platform on which I stood, waiting for what I could offer them. My fingers were slippery on the frets, my pick falling out of my hands as I played, but I recovered, and the audience loved it. Devoured it. The music pumped through me into the inebriated rats in front of me, forming a connection of rhythm and sway.

At first, I knew they were ready to destroy me if I slipped up even the slightest bit. My mistake with the pick did not go unnoticed in the slightest. They were a crowd hungry for entertainment to fuel their collective buzz, and I had been chosen as the sacrificial lamb to be led to the slaughter. After the first few strums of my guitar I could sense their acquiescence, that soon gave way to acceptance. Joy. The drunken fools loved me by the end of the first song, and I laughed out into the smoke infused light at how easy it had been to win them over. How simple it was to twist their minds into loving me, wanting me.

I played for what seemed like hours, sweat soaking my shirt, and my throat becoming raw from slinging the blues. I felt free, solitary in a world of my own making, being given reassurance by an audience I alone conducted. It was only when my knees gave out, my ass hitting the stool behind me hard as I reluctantly sat down, did I realize that my body was telling me to take a fucking break already.

Rasping into the mic about calling it quits for a few to get another drink and take a squirt, I slumped down off stage, my legs feeling like jello beneath me. I remembered sliding down against the cement wall in the back hallway, pressing hard into the cool stone. It had been painted red, the color of sin, and my eyes strained to focus on the signs of the doors above me.

Ladies.

Gents.

I reached out a hand towards the door handle of the men's room, despite it being 20 feet down the hall, wishing I could somehow Jedi-mind-trick that shit to come closer. It didn't. The image of the men's room was soon replaced by a pair of long legs that stood shoulder width apart in front of my field of vision. They were bare, tan, and stained red from the light reflecting off the walls. The devil had come to take me to hell, and apparently, he'd come in the form of a blonde femme in red heels.

The devil called me cowboy as she plucked the hat from my head and placed it on her own, pulling the rim down, throwing shadows across her face. All that I could see from my vantage point on the floor was the smirk of her cherry red lips and the swells of her breasts as she breathed deep and stepped closer, her legs taking stride over my hips beneath her.

My head fell back against the red wall, and I felt myself smile at the devil, daring her forward. My hands found her hips and pulled her closer to bury my face into the smooth, flat expanse of the skin directly above the apex of her thighs.

How'd her skirt get pushed up so far? I remembered wondering, even as my hands pulled at the small bows that held up the impossibly tiny pair of lace panties in front of me. They fell with the last scrap of my memory, and the rest morphed into red swirls of a woman crying out in pleasure and the sinking feeling of being dragged into something much deeper than what I had bargained for.

. . .

The screen door smacking against its frame brought me back to the present, and I turned to find Bella staring wide-eyed at Rose on the futon.

"My god..." she said, and I had to fight to hold back a snort of cynical laughter. I'd seen Rose like this before, and I'd been in the same exact position too many times to count, her stupor didn't shock me. Bella, however, sweet, innocent Bella, was practically shaking.

I walked over to her and pulled her into an embrace before she could object. I'd slept with her in my arms, held her on the porch, and now the feeling and the muscle memory were too strong to ignore. I liked the way she fit into me, her soft hair brushing the underside of my chin as her face buried itself in my chest, perfect and life-affirming. That's what Bella was: a reminder of a life worth living. Rose was the opposite. She was the manifestation of a life slowly rotting out its flesh from the inside.

"We should help her," Bella's soft voice said, muffled from where her face pressed into the cotton of my shirt.

"I know."

"How long as she been like that?"

"All night probably."

"Christ, I can't take this."

"You don't have to, Bella," I said, tugging at her shoulders so she'd look up at me. We exchanged a silent conversation.

_Go, Bella. Go back to the porch. I'll fix this. _

She stared up at me, warring with herself to stay and help, or flee and rid herself of the decay that would no doubt cling to her like cobwebs in a crypt. I nodded to her, telling her that it was okay to go, and she did. Slow but steady, she walked back out onto my porch and sat down on the swing, her eyes staring ahead of her and not back into the dim, dank light of the house.

Relieved, I went to work. Picking Rose up off the sofa and throwing her over my shoulder in a fireman's carry out the back. She moaned in a pitiful way as I carried her across the backyards to her house, hearing her mumble incoherent words as we went.

I wasn't worried for her brain function, or if she'd OD'd since the four lines of coke she'd dealt herself last night were still sitting atop the pocket mirror on the coffee table. Rose snorted coke to fuck, not to be ditched and left alone in an empty house. She wouldn't waste her powder if she didn't have the chance to use it properly. No, what Rose did last night was drink. There were little bottles strewn at her feet all along the futon. She'd must have found some hidden stash I'd forgotten about. I'd never bothered looking for bottles, since everytime I cracked and started ripping open the cabinets and searching in vain behind the appliances in the kitchen, I'd see Bella's Bambi eyes staring back at me and I'd curse, hit my head against the wall and stalk off to take a fucking shower feeling like the weakest pussy that'd ever walked the face of the earth.

I briefly wondered how Rose knew where to look, but the idea that she might have been keeping closer tabs on me than I'd suspected was just too fucking disturbing, so I ignored the temptation to dwell. My house had looked like a tornado had hit it from the inside when I'd walked into it, so I'm sure Rose did her best to leave a solid path of destruction in her wake. Something told me to be wary of going into my bedroom. The vibe in my house screamed anger; overt and seething anger. Rose might not have stormed Bella's house after I'd left, but she hadn't just sat back and twiddled her thumbs neither. No, she'd left me a war zone to come home to.

Kicking open Rose's back door, I walked down towards her bedroom, and plopped her on the bed, bouncing her on purpose. Almost immediately, she retched from the sudden movement, bending over and emptying the contents of her fermented system into the garbage pale I was quick to grab next to her bed.

"There y'are, let it out," I said, only half invested in this mess. I didn't want the girl to die in a puddle of her own vomit, but that didn't mean I was going to rub her back, hold her hair, and tell her a bedtime story after she pulled a Linda Blair.

The waste basket was no match for what Rose was giving, and I found myself dragging her to the bathroom a little while later, despite my overwhelming want to just leave her.

No, she'd gotten wasted on my property. In a sick way, this was my fault. I'd deal with the aftermath.

And I did.

. . .

Bella wasn't on my porch when I finally fled the living hell that was Rose's house. I slumped my shoulders, spent, and sickened by the turn of events of the morning. It had started out rather well, dammit.

Rose had been asleep with two Asprin and a water bottle next to her bed when I left. I'd managed to get her to wash her face, but that was all I attempted. Brushing her teeth and cleaning up would be her responsibility. At least everything that could possibly be purged from her system was now down the toilet.

God, I was tired. And I smelled like puke. And I wanted to see Bella. I'd promised her breakfast, not that she would have an appetite again anytime soon.

I rubbed my face in my hands, wanting to erase the last hour from the day, but then I heard the sound of a screen door hitting its frame and looked up. Bella was on her porch, and she looked worried. I let out a long exhale at the sight of her, and walked forward, stepping over the shrubs and herbs I'd planted to reach her. She bent over the railing and hugged my neck as I wrapped my arms around her waist. Her long hair slipped down over my shoulders, and I felt cocooned by her warmth and the subtle sweetness of her skin.

That same sense of life-affirming security filled me as before, and I held her tighter, scared to ever feel it slip away. Bella's warm hands squeezed my shoulders, and I realized then how the tables had been turned. My role as protector for the day had been exchanged for the part of the broken man once again standing at Bella's feet.

.

.

.

* * *

A/N: *sigh* Jasper, I just can't quit you.

I'd like to thank the artistic director of Jackson's Vanity Fair Italy shoot for the visual inspiration in this chapter. Red walls and smoke, anyone?

Okay, serious business time. So, from July 24 - 31st I will be on vacation at a beach house with a big front porch and a porch swing. :-) Perfect, I know. If only I had a Jasper to drink tea with. But! The point is that there will not be a chapter next Sunday. I'm going to try to write while I'm gone, and depending on how much I get done with the time I can steal away, I'll get a chapter to you as soon as I can, but next Sunday probably ain't happening. I'm warning you now.

I hope you enjoyed the glimpse into Jasper's past. As much as I love him sober, he's fun to write when he's wet.

Have a great weekend y'all! *foozles*


	13. Chapter 13: The Persistence of Memory

A/N: I'm back! Forgive the two week absence. The family vacation overlapped into real life, and while I absolutely loved every minute of it, I found myself with no time to sit down and write, which made me a little sad. But! All is well, and here's a new chapter for y'all to enjoy.

* * *

.

.

.

The sky thundered above us, yet we walked on.

I had wanted to visit the beach for some time, but had been too consumed with this thing between Jasper and I to remember to make the trek across the street to the dunes.

Normally, I'd go at night. Late at night. When everyone slept, and my only companions were the crashing waves and the hooting owls in the far off pines. Sometimes, during my walks, I'd come across of a pair of lovers laying on a blanket in the sand, but not much else. The beach at night was solitary and tranquil. It was a calm alternative to the cacophony of thoughts tumbling about my head when I sat at home, alone, with my mother's guitar not five feet away—a constant reminder of the woman I abhorred, yet owed my life to. It was a strange dichotomy, one I could never pick a clear side to stand on.

I shook my head, clearing it of its melancholy thoughts, only to realize that Jasper was slipping his hand into mine. Our fingers twined, and I looked down and away with heat flowing across my cheeks.

The sand felt good on my feet, cool to the touch. It helped with the sudden flushed of my skin.

"Is this okay?" He asked, giving my hand a squeeze.

I nodded.

Jasper always asked permission, for everything—a gentleman.

_A gentleman with a drinking problem_, I reminded myself.

_He hasn't had a drop in weeks. _

_It's only a matter of time._

As my brain warred with itself, I focused on the light drizzle hitting my skin and wetting my hair. It felt soothing. The rain was a soft caress. I guess that's why we walked on, ignoring the rolling cloud of thunder coming in from the west behind us.

We hadn't talked about Rose, or even mentioned her name. When Jasper had emerged from her house, unscathed, the only reaction I could think of was to hug the man. He looked so broken. I could only hope that him being witness to Rose's stupor, while sober for once, would add to his motivation to stay dry.

Hope. There was that damn emotion again. I shook my head, silently berating myself. Jasper squeezed my hand, as if he knew that I needed the physical grounding.

"I normally do this alone," I said. "At night."

Jasper turned towards me with a cocked eyebrow. "Do you ever get tired of it?"

"Tired of what?" I asked.

"Being alone."

I bowed my head, letting my hair fall and cover my face. It was such a simple question, but there was no doubt that my answer would be just the opposite. The truth was, I was _too_ used to being alone. It's all I'd known for so long. Despite that sad realization, though, I didn't necessarily want to lead such a singular existence, I'd just fallen into it. It was a instinctive reaction to help protect myself.

Yes, I was tired of it. Yes, I wanted to change my pathetic routine of being a frightened hermit living inside its shell. And yes—assuming Jasper was insinuating what I thought he was—I wanted him to be apart of that change in some way, but I was still too scared to be so bold.

Jasper's feet paused in the sand, and I felt a tug on my arm as I took a step too far. Turning back, I realized that I hadn't answered him; he was waiting.

"Yes."

Jasper's shoulders slumped with his exhale. "Me too."

"What do you mean? Your family?"

"Yeah. I miss 'em."

"They're still alive, though," I whispered, and dropped his hand.

Feeling too much emotion for my own liking, I walked down towards the water. I didn't want to be angry with Jasper, yet the rush of frustration still came. It wasn't his fault that I didn't have much in terms of a family or people I loved, besides my father—someone whose name I didn't even know up until a few years ago. But, my solitary life wasn't entirely my doing, unlike his.

_You're being unfair_, I told myself. Which I was.

I didn't know much about Jasper's past or why he chose to wallow at the bottom of a bottle, so what right did I have to pass judgement on him?

None.

His footsteps were silent, but the heat I felt at my back told me he was behind me. He stood there for a few minutes, inches from me, breathing deep. I had an urge to lean back into him but I didn't want to become dependent on his comfort, and stopped myself.

"I'm sorry, Bella."

I shook my head. Why was he apologizing?

"We don't really know each other. It's not your fault," I told him while watching the waves.

"I _want_ to know you." His hand slipped into mine again, and this time, I didn't drop it; I held on tight.

"Can I ask you a question?"

Despite my gaze being focused on the water in front of me, I saw him nod.

"Why did you leave?"

"Leave?" Jasper repeated.

"The south."

His fingers flexed around mine, and I felt him bring my hand up to his chest as he traced the lines of my palm, distracting himself. I turned towards him, giving him time.

"You really wanna know?" His voice was small, and his eyes were sad. Despite his reaction to my quandary, I nodded. I did want to know. Badly.

He started pulling me backward, back towards the dunes. I followed in confusion. Why wasn't he answering? Where were we going?

When we reached the upward slope of the sand, he sat down, using the rise of the beach as a place to brace his back. He pulled me down with him and wrapped his arms around me as I sat between his legs, my back to his chest.

I frowned, I didn't like not being able to see his face, but when I tried to turn, he held me tighter. "It's easier like this," he said, and I stilled.

Embracing as we were, I felt a little self-conscious. So much had happened since waking up with Jasper on my couch, but the almost constant physical contact Jasper had displayed throughout the day made me nervous. I wasn't used to it, at all. The sense of touch is so strong, such a powerful connector to emotion. Suddenly having it after years of shutting out the world felt foreign. I wanted it, though, which scared me.

"There was an accident," Jasper said, and my thoughts snapped back to the here and now.

I waited, he paused.

"Someone died. Someone important, and I had trouble finding myself after she'd gone. I left once the dust settled. I couldn't stay."

Not knowing what else to do, I touched my one hand to his arm in comfort.

There had been a She. Who could She have been? Not his mother, he said his parents—both of them—were in Texas. Not his grandmother, she was living in Savannah.

A sister?

A friend?

A girlfriend...a wife?

I had another urge to turn around so I could see his face, read him, but I held back, knowing he wouldn't want me to. He hadn't spoken again, and I assumed that he'd shared what he could of the story. I didn't want to push him, for he never pushed me.

His chin nuzzled its way onto my shoulder, and his arms held me even tighter, as if he were scared I'd leave him, too.

The idea had crossed my mind, no doubt: pack my things up and book it in the middle of the night. It was out of desperation to keep what little was left of my sanity, since all of my rules went out the window when it came to Jasper, but I never had the full conviction to do it. The little bungalow that sat next to his on the street behind us was all I had to ground me in this world. It was my father's, and held what sad, pathetic possessions I had.

My father's house kept my mother's guitar contained. If I fled, I'd be left with her and none of him. The balance I'd so carefully concocted would shift, and I'd fall off the precipice of an existence my life had become.

No, leaving was not an option. And now, Jasper had become attached to me in some way, and whether I was ready to admit it or not, I knew I was in exactly the same predicament.

We were stuck; two souls in the sand, broken, and slowly becoming dependent upon the other.

What a terrifying thought.

"Are you cold?" Jasper asked, pulling me back to the present.

I nodded.

The beach at night, even in the summer, could catch you off-guard with the chill. Between the cool of the darkness absorbing into you through the soft sand, and the wind coming off the water mixing with the mist from the waves, the fact that I'd started shivering did not surprise me.

"I shouldn't have made you sit on the damp ground," Jasper said, pulling me up gently as he stood. "Let's head back."

The thunder continued to rumble at us as we walked back to the houses. It'd yet to fully erupt into a storm, and so the drizzle and the whining of the clouds merely threatened, never broke.

To my astonishment, Jasper led me towards his porch, as opposed to mine, and I looked up at him in confusion.

"Flannel," was all he said before he disappeared inside.

Not ten seconds later, he emerged in a dry shirt and holding up a too-large flannel button-up that looked warm and familiar. I remembered washing it when I'd gone through his house all those weeks ago.

"For you," he said, handing it over, and I smiled down at the soft fabric.

"Thank you."

"Wurn't nothin'." He looked so satisfied that he could be of assistance; it was endearing.

A small silence fell, in which I bit my lip before asking him, "tea?"

"Love some."

I nodded and together we walked down his steps and over to mine, where the kettle was put on the stove, and I went into the bathroom to exchange my damp clothes for a pair of sleep shorts and Jasper's flannel.

It felt a little strange, seeing myself in the mirror wearing someone else's clothing. I'd never had that experience before. But Jasper's shirt was warm, and still smelled of the fabric softener I'd used, which made me smile in a satisfied way.

The kettle sounded; it was my cue to leave.

With a sigh I stepped out of the bathroom with its cold, clean tile, and padded across the wooden floorboards to the linoleum of the kitchen to make the tea. Jasper saw me, of course, and I found myself wondering what he was thinking as I poured two cups and placed the bags of spiced chai into each.

When I turned to hand him his cup, though, I was met with his back, as he bent to grab the guitar he'd left along the far wall of the kitchen two days before.

"Bella," he said, his back still facing me, "play with me. Please?"

My tense shoulders slumped at 'please' since he always managed to say it with such sadness. I placed the cups of tea on the table and walked over to the twin guitar with a bit of a huff.

Fine. Whatever. Jasper had managed to pull down almost all my walls. He'd told me a bit about his past, so now I'd play guitar with him. All would be even and we could go back to normal.

I hoped.

_Damn that emotion! _

"What do you want to play?" I asked as I sat down in a chair at the table and rolled up the sleeves of his flannel so they wouldn't get in the way as I strummed.

Jasper didn't answer me with simple spoken words, instead, he started to play and sing.

"_Walk with me, Susie-Lee, through the bush and by the tree..._"

I smiled and looked down at my hands on the frets. Jasper had just sucked the frustration out of me with a single line of music. Whatever tension that had been in the air the moment before vanished, leaving behind only the happy lyrics and sweet sounds of The White Stripes' 'I Can Tell That We Are Gonna Be Friends'.

.

.

.

* * *

A/N: Alright, who had a dirty thought pop into their head when Jasper said "play with me"?

*watches hesitant hands raise all around*

Ha! I knew it! Pervs. But I love you all, and I didn't know how else to word that question so I was left with innuendo as opposed to sincerity, dammit. I'm telling you now, though, that Jasper was sincere, and his thoughts were pure. He is the gentleman Bella thinks he is, through and through. :-)

Beta'd, as always, by Riri. Pre-read, as always, by Chicklette. *hugs*

.

.

.

Secondary A/N: A wonderful thing happened since I posted last, A Different Forest got into contact with me (much to my surprise, since I doubt many people outside of SVM know who the hell I am) and asked me if I'd like to become a VIP author.

Uhh...hells to the yes! 'Cept, I didn't know what those were, but it sounded fun and VIPish, which is always a good time.

I've since learned what the VIPs are, and I'm beyond excited and thankful to all the lovely, generous, and bodacious babes who run ADF. I have a cabin with a little gnome in the front yard (yay!) and another lovely place to post my stories. *happy sigh* I put up the links on my profile if you liked to see.

And now, I'll shut up. Hopefully, next Sunday there will be another chapter and we can get back to our normal posting schedule. I've missed you all! *hugs*

~Zigs


	14. Chapter 14: It'll Be Okay

A/N: Back to our regular posting schedule. Yay!

Foozles and thanks go out to Riri, my beta love. Her enthusiastic hatred of Rose in this fic and the snarky notes she leaves her (yes, Rose, not me) each time she revises a chapter never fail to make me giggle like an idiot.

On a serious note, this chapter starts out sad. In fact, I cried writing it, but I stress that I'm a wuss, so tears are normal for me. The first section down yonder is a flashback. Ye've been warned.

* * *

.

.

.

My darlin' had been having dreams for several nights; nightmares about something she wouldn't tell me. She'd wake up scared and shivering, her eyes lost in some far off place as I held her and rocked her on the bed. I'd asked each morning what the dreams were about, did she want to talk about them, get them off her chest, but she refused, and insisted on filling our days with more important things than "discussing silliness," as she said.

Her delicate little hands would slip up into my hair and massage away the worry I held inside me at seeing her in such a state. Her lips would find mine as I'd tilt my head back with a contented sigh from her touches, and the thoughts of anything else besides holding the woman I loved against me all morning would vanish.

When I looked back on it, I realized how many times we'd been together before the accident. How insistent she was, and seductive she could be to get me to bend to her whim, no matter what we were doing or when. There was an urgency to her mannerisms that I always assumed to be lust, want, heat—they only served to fuel my own.

It was only afterwards did I try and figure that she might have been saying goodbye. That maybe all of her extra caresses and kisses in those final days were her telling me farewell.

On the day of the accident, I woke up to the sounds of her cries next to me in bed. She'd curled herself up into a little ball, and I panicked, thinking she was in pain, or hurt. She shook her head at all my questions and placed her hands on either side of my face.

"I'm not sad for me," she said, kissing my lips as she spoke.

I didn't know what that meant, or why she was saying such a thing. I wrapped myself around her, keeping her as close to me as I could. Who was she sad for? Why was she crying still? I hated not knowing.

She'd been quiet for the rest of that day, contemplative, and thoughtful, as opposed to expressive. Her hand always stayed tightly held in mine, and her head never left its restful position on my shoulder. I liked the quietness of our affections on that day, and smiled down at the woman that made me feel so complete and loved.

At dusk, we were sitting at the kitchen table in our small home with the heat of the summer night floating in through the screen doors at the front and back of the house. We were deciding on what to cook for dinner, and making up a list for the store, as we flipped through one of our favorite cookbooks.

"Oh! And we need olives," she said, pointing to the recipe in the book and smiling up at me with her wide, golden eyes.

I nodded and jotted down the last item before folding up the paper and stuffing it in my back pocket.

"Almost ready?" I asked, standing up from the table and slipping on a pair of sandals—it was too hot for boots.

She didn't respond, and I looked up to see what had been keeping her. What I saw frightened me.

My darling girl was standing in the kitchen, barefoot, and frozen, her eyes lost and unfocused. I stepped in front of her and held her face between my hands to get her attention.

"Hey," I spoke in a soft tone, "come back to me."

She blinked and her eyes snapped to mine. "Oh, Jasper."

Her voice was filled with a melancholy I couldn't place, and the bone crushing hug she gave me the next second didn't do a thing to quell my growing concerns.

"Wanna just order-in tonight? We don't have to cook."

"No, no. You know how much I love Jamie Oliver," she said, gesturing to the book on the table with a false smile, before heading towards the door. "Let's go."

The trip to the store was uneventful but sweet as we shared kisses over the grocery cart, and debated which ice cream flavor was best before deciding to just buy both and be done with it.

No, the trip to the store wasn't what broke me into a thousand little, jagged pieces, never to be put back together again. It was the trip home that ripped my life apart.

I'd taken a back road home to avoid Saturday traffic. It was curved and winding, but the trees planted along its edge bowed down towards the center, intertwining their branches and creating a canopy of dripping willows and moss.

"It's coming," she said in a quiet voice when we were a few minutes from home. I assumed she meant our turn, since she was focused on the red light of the sunset filtering through the branches above us.

The unbuckling of her seatbelt caught me off guard. I turned to her with a cocked eyebrow as her arms wrapped around me in a tight hug and her face nuzzled into my shoulder.

"Hey, we're almost home," I soothed, smiling down at her. She looked up at me, and the emotion in her eyes made my heart stop.

"I love you. It'll be okay."

My brow furrowed as I continued to smile at her before turning my eyes back to the road. White lights flashed in front of us, and then sound and sight and touch stopped the next second before everything fell away.

She was gone.

I woke up with a start, shaking and feeling the sweat on my face, thinking I was back in that god forsaken hospital, but seeing the bookcases and a porch swing out past the windows.

Bella was in my arms. We were on the sofa in her house.

I had an extremely disorienting moment where I thought that maybe this was yesterday, and the whole thing with Rose had also been a dream. But then, I looked down at Bella and saw my shirt drowning her in red and black plaid and I felt recognition sweep over me—I'd given her that shirt last night. We'd must have fallen asleep again, or maybe this time had been planned?

I was too shaken to remember, and I realized as Bella whimpered, that I was practically crushing her with how tight I was clutchin' on her. I loosened my hold and her brow furrowed as she nuzzled closer to me. She looked so innocent and sweet like that, and I tried to focus on her slow, soft breathing to help tame my own, but it was too late. The overwhelming urge to down as much liquor as I could before my body gave out on me hit me like a fucking freight train. It was an unstoppable force screaming at me to quiet its need.

I hadn't had such vivid dreams since the first night I stopped drinking. They came at me like a cackling snake, tempting me to break down and give myself what I so selfishly wanted. The only difference from before was that I didn't have Bella near me, and I could scream and pound my fists into the floor as needed. But now, with her on top of me and sleeping so soundly, no amount of tears or tantrums could help exorcise the poison simpering through my brain.

It was a suffocating feeling.

I had to get out.

As quietly as I could, I lifted my arms up and off of her while trying to slide over on the sofa without disturbing her.

I'd managed to get one leg on the floor when her eyes snapped open and she looked up at me with total recognition in her sleepy stare.

She knew.

She knew I was running, she knew I was going to crack and try to find a bottle, and she knew I was a failure. It only made me want to get out of her sight faster.

"Stay with me, Jasper," she whispered, as her arms planted themselves on either side of my ribcage on the sofa. She was trying to keep me trapped beneath her, which would have been laughable considering her size, had I not seen the sorrow etched on her face.

She'd broken so many rules for me, opened up to me, given me so much of herself, and now I was going to run away from her?

_Coward. _

The rational part of my brain smacked the idiotic part with the blunt side of a sledge hammer.

I closed my eyes as I literally felt my head pound.

"Stay," Bella repeated before she rested her head once again on my chest and moved her hands back to clutching my shirt and rubbing my neck.

With slow, deliberate breaths, I took in the gentle, sweet scent of her hair, and focused on the press of her warm body against mine. I once again warred with my brain's opposing urges, and knew which one was going to win out this time. Between the bottle and Bella, my want for companionship and solace won out over the potential heartache of losing her if I did dare to ever drink again.

_Losing _her_..._

_Not again._

My arms snapped around Bella so fast, she jumped a little, and I whispered out an apology into her silken hair.

"It's okay, Jasper," she breathed.

"I'm sorry, Bella."

I felt a smile pulled at her lips. "You didn't do anything."

"I almost—" she cut me off.

"No, Jasper. You're here. You didn't leave."

"But I—"

"It was a bad dream, but it's over now. It'll be okay."

She looked up at me then as if she understood every sad, broken part of me, and I looked back, wanting to tell her everything but not having the words.

After several moments, her eyes closed and she rested her head, once again, on my chest. I tightened my hold on her, and shifted us so that we were turned into the sofa, cocooned into its soft cushions.

_It'll be okay_, I repeated to myself. _It'll be okay._

. . .

I'd gotten a call the next morning that woke me out of my fitful sleep on my uncomfortable-ass futon. I hadn't stayed with Bella the previous night, and my body ached and twitched with its need to be near her again.

My brain agreed wholeheartedly. Waking up two days in a row with her in my arms was heaven compared to sleeping in my house again. I hated it.

But after spending the past two days together, the need for me to come home and deal with the shit-storm that was my house became evident. Rose's twister of emotional wreckage lay all over the floors and any available surface, and leaving it would just prolong the memories I wanted permanently bleached from my brain.

I was rubbing my forehead hard, trying to pay attention while simultaneously hoping for this call to end. I hadn't expected to hear from these people ever again. Getting a call from them asking for me to play a gig was a little too much of a shock for my sober, yet frazzled nerves.

"Yeah. Sure, Pete. Friday. Hey man, thanks for thinking of me, I just might be there," I said, trying to end the conversation on a positive note.

_"We're hoping for it. Have a good one." _

"You, too," I nodded into the receiver as the line went dead, dazed and a little bit more than confused.

"Be where?" A voice sounded from the porch, startling me, and causing me to drop the phone onto the floor. One of the many drawbacks to attempting to live without alcohol as a constant presence in your system was having to get used to being jumpy as fuck on a regular basis. I used to love coffee, now the shit just made me nervous.

"Christ, Rose, could you not do that?"

I bent over to pick up my cell when I heard the screen door creak on its hinges. Immediately, I was upright with my hands held out in front of me. "Stop."

Rose's face took on an air of mock hurt. "Daw, now Jasper, that's no way to welcome a person."

"No, it ain't, but you can't come in here, Rose."

"And why is that?" she asked, as she set her purse down on the coffee table and made to sit on the futon.

I stepped in front of her, halting her advance. "'Cause I'm leavin'."

Her eyebrow raised. "Oh? And where are you running off to at..." she leaned over to check the clock in the kitchen, "eight in the morning?"

"Out."

"Just out?"

"Yeah. Just out."

Silence fell and we both stared at each other, unmoving. Me with my arms crossed, and her with her eyebrow still raised and hip cocked. The crickets were even chirping outside, defining the passing minutes with an annoying, measured beat.

"Well, are you going to leave, Jasper?"

"It's my house, Rose."

"Your point?"

"I can't lock up until you walk out."

"And what makes you think that you'd need to lock your door in a neighborhood like this?" Her voice was saccharine sweet; I hated it.

"Shady neighbors."

"Hmm...yes. That little mouse living next door is a bit of a snob, isn't she?"

I bristled at her mention of Bella, but tried to keep my face clear of emotion.

It didn't matter, Rose noticed.

"Getting cozy with the neighbors again, Jasper? My, you do get around."

"Pot, meet Kettle, woman."

Rose laughed at that. A complete, throw your head back and cackle, type of laugh as she turned to walk out the door. I could hear her chuckling to herself the entire time she walked back across the lawns to her own porch, and the sound chilled me.

. . .

After cleaning up my house for what felt like hours, and taking a much needed shower, I walked out to the back porch and sat down hard on the steps with my head in my hands.

I was still rattled from the phone call I'd gotten earlier in the day; I had no fucking idea what to do about it.

Pete said he needed a couple extra names to fill up a "Sounds of Summer" thing at a bar I'd played at a few times back in the fall. The gigs there were good: there was always a nice turn-out for an audience, Pete paid well, and he always, _always_ gave the performers free booze.

The free booze was my biggest incentive to keep going back, but for that reason alone I was now a nervous wreck. The idea of being in a bar again and not touching a drop was hard enough to imagine, but being in a bar and being handed fucking shots every half-hour on the nose was a whole different story. It'd be full-out game-on for my base tendencies, and_ that_ was definitely something I wanted to avoid.

Because if I did crack, if I did accept those damn shots, I'd lose Bella. And that just wasn't an option anymore. Not after the past few days. Not ever.

The problem was, I wanted to say yes; I wanted to play the gig. I wanted to play again, period! Get up in front of an audience and command them like I used to. Feel the sweat and the heat mix together in the air from all the intoxicated bodies pushing into each other, feed off of their energy, and pour it into the music. I wanted the burn in my throat after singing my voice raw, and the dull ache in my fingers from playing too hard and too long.

I wanted that satisfaction.

But, all of those things, all that satisfaction was so intermingled with the physical presence of alcohol, and the taste of it on my tongue, that I didn't know if I could accomplish one goal without failing at the other anymore.

A soft thunk of a mug being placed on the wooden boards beside me made me raise my head out my hands. My hair poked out from my forehead in twisted spokes and curls, I'd mangled it so badly with my fingers.

"Drink that, you'll feel better."

I laughed at that—a cynical, harsh laugh.

_Drinking_. Just the idea held with it connotations of something harder, fermented. I knew what was in that steaming mug next to me, and it wasn't a fucking Hot Totty. It was tea, plain ol' tea.

I wanted to smack away the cup with the back of my hand, but I knew that'd accomplish nothing but make Bella wary of me—something I never wanted. So I took the warm mug into my hands and sipped the bitter tea down my bitter throat, forcing myself to get-the-fuck-over it and focus on what was in front of me...Bella.

Being bold and not caring, I reached out to take her hand and pull her close to me on the steps. She tripped forward with a small smile and sat down without an ounce of grace next to me, but it made me grin at her all the more. She was more endearing and precious to me than she could ever imagine, even in her small stumbles. I draped an arm over her shoulder and held her close.

To my delight, she sighed. I quirked an eyebrow at her. "I like this, I missed it," she said.

"You missed me?" I asked. My tone was sarcastic, but on the inside I was fucking singing.

She nodded, a blush creeping across her cheeks. "You make it all so quiet. It's comforting."

Her eyes closed and she leaned her head back on my shoulder. I could feel the warmth of her hair on my cheek and the raging need for alcohol dimmed the second those soft hairs brushed across my skin. It still amazed me every time this girl took down her guard in front of me. So much so, that all my other worries and feelings fell away, leaving only her in their stead.

I wanted to tell her how much comfort she brought me, how much stability and strength she gave me on a daily basis by just being her damn self, but I didn't. Something stopped the words from coming out of my mouth. Instead, "I missed you too," was all I said.

Still, those four words made her smile, and that was worth everything.

.

.

.

* * *

A/N: See, I gave you sad at the beginning, but I ended it happy. That's proof that I love y'all.

I have no idea why this fic is becoming so god damn heavy, but I'm trying with all my fucking might to keep this shit light and give these two the happiness they deserve.

I hope that this chapter answered a few questions y'all had with regards to Jasper.

Oh, and speaking of Jasper, I finally saw Eclipse today. Dude, Major Whitlock, I love you.


	15. Chapter 15: You're More Important

A/N: Hedow! I'm posting this chapter even though I'm behind on review replies, but I figured y'all would appreciate the update regardless, right? :-)

Chicklette, a girl I totally adore, beta'd what's below. Any mistakes left, are mine.

Enjoy!

* * *

.

.

.

I was sitting in my living room staring at the door; my knee wouldn't stop bouncing.

I wanted to have the balls to get the hell up and walk out the door.

I wanted to cross the lawn to visit Jasper.

I wanted to _see_ Jasper. Period.

Yet, my body wouldn't let me move, except for my erratic, over-energized knee.

_Just do it, Bella. Nike. Come on. _

With my fists clenched at my sides, I stood up and walked towards the door. I was two feet away before I spun on my heel and headed directly for the kitchen, pulling at my hair the entire way. Nope, walking out the door wasn't going to happen.

I poured myself a large cup of water from the tap and downed the glass in one go.

_Calm down. Calm. Down. _

After making sure my breathing was back to normal, I sat down at the kitchen table and looked out the back door on the gray day, my knee still bouncing beneath me.

I missed Jasper.

Oh, this was not good. I was freaking out, and missing Jasper.

_So. Not. Good. _

My head hit the table with a thud and I groaned. We'd slept together on my couch for two nights and suddenly I was addicted to him.

I laughed down at the table top at my choice of words.

Addicted. Oh, the irony.

No, it wasn't so much an addiction, it was just a sense of loss when he wasn't around. He made me feel happy, and he kept all of my sad memories at bay. He treated me as if I were something to be cherished, and like an idiot, I had gotten used to the feeling.

In hindsight, I guess it was a good thing that he hadn't spent last night here. I didn't know what it was that we were doing, except maybe seeking some kind of refuge in each other, but if I was going to have such a strong reaction to him, perhaps time apart was necessary.

That didn't change the fact that I missed him, though.

That was normal, right?

It was normal for a person to miss someone they cared about, right?

Yes, I cared for Jasper. I could admit it, because even if I denied it to myself, it was pretty clear from the way I'd been acting around him that I gave a shit. A gave a whole lot. Which was something extremely out of character for me but I really didn't care anymore about my rules—they'd never applied to Jasper anyway. He'd practically relapsed right in front of me, and I held him down and kept him with me on that sofa. I wasn't ready to let him go yet, and by doing so, I'm pretty sure I screwed myself out of staying above emotion in all this.

Then again, that ship had probably sailed the first night Jasper found me screaming on the floor and let me sleep in his arms.

I groaned again and slapped my palm onto the table with a halfhearted plop.

This was not the type of situation I was good at, considering that I had the emotional maturity of an eleven year-old.

I guess this is why people had girlfriends? To talk about all this stuff. Girls gossiped, discussed and analyzed the nuances of every single thing guys did.

A person's name flashed through my head a the thought that made me giggle like a manic into the quiet of the kitchen._ Rose_. She was the only girl I knew, really, unless I counted my gynecologist, and a few acquaintances from my time at school.

Continuing to giggle, and sounding psychotic, I decided that this was just something else I had to handle on my own. I could live with that, I'd been doing things on my own since I was kid; I could figure this out.

And considering I hadn't gotten any sleep the night before, I decided the first thing to do was take a nap. I needed one, badly.

. . .

I twisted and turned in my bunched up sheets for two hours before giving in. I wasn't going to be getting any sleep anytime soon, and I might as well go take a shower and wash off the sweat clinging to my skin, thanks to the heat of the noonday sun.

An hour later, I was back at my kitchen table, staring at the twin guitars Jasper had left against the far wall. It seemed like I couldn't get away from him even if I tried; his possessions had successfully infiltrated my home.

"Evil, interloping guitars," I grumbled to myself before putting my head in my hands.

Needing air, I gave up trying to think of what to do, and walked out to the back porch. I had laundry to fold, so at least I could pretend to be productive. What I wasn't expecting, however, was to see Jasper having his own moment of disquiet next door.

He looked troubled as he tugged at his hair with his hands. Seeing him like that caused a visceral reaction within me, I didn't want to see him that way, ever.

Feeling like a fool, but having no other plan, I went back inside to make him some tea.

I stared at the bag of spices and leaves swirling in the cup as it brewed, wondering a little too late why I was making him_ hot_ tea. Clearly, my brain wasn't working. Who the fuck drank hot tea in August?

Still, it was all I had to give, and I needed the excuse to go over there. Not having something to show for the random visit would be strange.

_Yes, because this entire exchange you're having with yourself is completely normal._

Shaking my head, I picked up the cup and headed to the door. Maybe it was silly, and stupid, but it kept my hands busy, and my mind from retreating back in on itself and shutting him out, like part of me so desperately wanted to.

_If I shut him out now, I won't have to risk getting hurt later. _

_You also won't be able to see him everyday like you've gotten so used to. _

_Right. Never mind. _

I stopped in front of him, and stared at his haggard appearance. It didn't look like he'd gotten much sleep either, and for some reason, that brought a smile to my face.

"Drink that. You'll feel better," I said, sounding like an idiot while placing the cup next to him. He laughed at my offering.

It stung.

_Don't get hurt, _a little voice said in my head._ Back away...run away..._

As if he knew what I was about to do, his arm came up and tugged me to his side. I stumbled a bit, sitting down hard next to him on the step, but he wrapped me up with his arms and I couldn't help but smile at the feeling. I even let slip that I'd missed him, which he teased me about, but I didn't tease him back. I _had_ missed him. There was no point in denying it. I'd just spent the better part of the day trying to and it was impossible.

We sat on the steps, speaking very little to each other for a few minutes before Jasper touched his nose to my temple, getting my attention and I turned to him, curious. His smile was tight and his eyes were guarded: he was worried about something.

"What is it?" I asked.

"I got a call this morning, from this guy I know..."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. He owns a...he owns a bar, Bella."

"Oh." I turned my head down to look at my hands. I didn't like where this was going.

"It's not just a bar, though, it's a music venue, too. There's live music there all the time."

I nodded, trying not to bolt as fast as I could away from him before he got a chance to tell the whole story.

"I've played there a few times before, and he wanted me to come and fill in an empty spot for him on friday."

"Oh. Wow, that's...great, Jasper. Really."

Jasper took my shoulders in his hands and made me look at him. "Bella, I know this probably isn't something you want to talk about, or even care about, but I need someone to talk this through with. I can't figure out what to do."

"What do you mean?"

"I miss playing in front of an audience. I'd love to go there and play again, but I don't want the...I just don't want to fail."

"Fail?"

"Yes."

"What—"

"Drinking, Bella. I'm scared."

I sat there and stared at him as the silence spread out in front of us. Jasper had just told me he was scared, and he looked it...I had no idea what to do.

"Jasper, I don't know what to say. I mean, you know what I'm gonna say."

"I know."

"Then why are you telling me this?"

"Because I want to do it."

"Then do it. I can't stop you."

"You could if you wanted," he said, looking down at my hands, which were currently wringing in my lap. He let go of my shoulders and picked them up, turning them over in his own. My hands looked so small next to his, it was jarring.

"You wouldn't go?"

"Nope. I'd stay right here."

"But Jasper—"

"I would," he repeated, looking at me. There was a fierce determination in his eyes, and I found myself sighing with sadness. Why was he telling me this? What was he trying to prove?

"Jasper you don't have to say that."

"No, I do. I mean it. I want you to know that."

All I could do was nod.

Time spent with Jasper was either filled with endless hours of quiet and comfort, or painful amounts of second-guessing my actions and a strange tension that made it hard for me to breath around him.

We were currently experiencing the latter of those two options.

"I want you to come with me."

No, wait. Neither of those two options applied to what I started feeling at that statement. The more appropriate choice would be something akin to freaking the fuck out.

"What?"

"Come with me."

"Jasper, I can't." My breathing came faster as I started to feel my world close in. This was too close to what my mother and I used to do. Too close to that same scenario, where I ended up sitting in a smoke filled corner, clutching a pink My Little Pony for dear life while my mother played to an audience of stinking, sweating, drunken fools. "Please don't ask me to do that."

His face fell at my words and my heart twisted in my chest. _Shit. _

"Jasper—"

"No, it's okay, Bella." He put a smile on his face and pushed his hair out of his eyes. "I understand."

I slumped next to him, exhausted. We'd only been talking, so why did I feel like I'd just run a mile without water?

"Jasper, if this is something that's important to you, then you should do it."

"It is important to me."

"Well, there ya' go."

"But, I don't think you get me yet." I looked up at him. "_You're _more important, Bella."

Immediately, I ducked my head, letting my hair fall and cover my face. Yes, it was cowardly. Yes, I was hiding, but Jasper's expression had been so sincere, I couldn't stand to look at him for long. Not that he let me hide, his calloused fingers curled around my chin and picked my head up to focus on him once more.

"Don't do that, cher." His voice was soothing and sweet, and I wanted to run because of it.

My eyes watered and I bit the inside of my cheek, trying to stem off my emotions. Why was he doing this to me?

"Don't hide, Bella. Please don't."

"What are you doing, Jasper?"

He smiled a sad smile and leaned his forehead against mine. I closed my eyes at the contact and breathed out a shaky breath as he sighed. I felt it on my skin, it sounded defeated, and a painful, jagged noise bubbled out of my throat.

I broke away from him when another pathetic whimper escaped me and I walked back to my house as fast as I could before the panic started. He caught up to me right at the edge of my back porch steps and his arms came around me tight and fast.

I stopped breathing.

I wanted to struggle, but I didn't. I wanted to cry, but I didn't. It all felt too dramatic and overdrawn. We'd only been talking, he'd only asked me a single question, and this was my reaction?

I knew I couldn't handle emotion. I was stunted, and broken, and for some insane reason, he was trying to fix me.

My hands came up to grasp at his arms that were pulled taut across my stomach and shoulders. I could hear him humming as he buried his face in the hair at my neck, and we swayed slightly from the force of his embrace. He was right up against me, and every muscle in his body seemed tense and coiled...this wasn't good for him. He had enough to worry about without having to deal with my introverted insanity.

But I didn't let him go like I should have, because I didn't want to. Instead, I walked us up the steps and inside my back door. I shuffled us through the kitchen, past the guitars against the wall, and the abandoned empty glass of water sitting on the table.

I hadn't planned this, but I knew what I wanted.

I guided Jasper to the sofa in the living room with a gentle tug of my hand and sat next to him when he folded himself down onto the sinking cushions.

Looking up at him for only a second, I tried to find the courage to ask him what I wanted to do next but I couldn't make my lips move.

So, I showed him.

With a small push, I reclined us both lengthways on the sofa, and watched as he had an awkward moment of trying to kick off his boots without getting the cushions covered in sand. We laughed a little as they successfully plopped, one right after the other, to the floor and then stilled the next second. One of us needed to talk, and I feared it'd be me.

"I didn't sleep very well last night," I said, speaking into the warmth of his shirt.

"Me neither."

I smiled, though he couldn't see. Why did that make me happy?

"I meant it before when I said missed this."

"I know."

"That's hard for me to admit, Jasper."

"I know."

A moment passed where we both shifted on the cushions, curling closer to each other and getting comfortable.

"I meant it too, Bella. You are more important."

I ducked my head, hiding in the fabric of his shirt. I wished he'd stop saying that. I knew, though, that he was waiting for an answer, so I nodded my agreement, too scared to speak.

The guilt was starting to eat at me, claw at my chest and fester its way under my skin. I knew what he'd told me wasn't a manipulation, it was truth, and for that reason, the sinking feeling in my gut only got worse.

What on earth did he do all day in his little bungalow except stare at the walls and wish for a drink? If he had something to look forward to, something to prepare for, maybe those moments of weakness would wither down little by little. Keeping him from that seemed selfish all of a sudden, and I hated myself for it. I cringed outwardly at the thought, and Jasper's arms held me tighter.

I let a minute pass before taking a deep breath, mixed with a leap of faith. "Jasper?"

"Mmm?"

"I'll go."

.

.

.

* * *

A/N: Well now, good for you, Bella.

Next up, Jasper in a bar with a guitar. *has a moment*

I also have large chunks of chapters 17 and 18 already written, so I'll be ahead of the game again soon. That means sunday morning updates as opposed to sunday nights. :-)

*foozles*


	16. Chapter 16: My Brown Eyed Girl

A/N: This is a week late. I know. Finding a new apartment on craigslist that doesn't suck ass and then talking a landlord into letting you have the place you love is hard work, yo. (p.s. we still haven't gotten a 'yes' or 'no' on the place we really, really, ridiculously want, so if y'all could cross your fingers for us, I'd be oh so freakin' grateful. Danke.)

Riri beta'd. Chick held my hand and told me to stop fretting. Venis Envy cried when I said I wasn't going to post, and made me feel like I kicked a puppy, so here we go.

* * *

.

.

.

It was Thursday night, and I was, once again, on Bella's couch, guitar in hand. She sat across from me on the coffee table, her legs curled under her with one of my too-large folk guitars balanced in her lap. She looked dwarfed in comparison to the big-ol' pot bellied thing, but she claimed to love the sound it created, and so we sat, practicing call and answer harmonies late into the night.

This had become our routine, our daily grind. Bella said she'd go with me to the show on friday, but only on one condition: that I prepare for the gig non-stop. Which is what we'd been doing.

I think her ulterior motive was just to keep my hands busy and my mind off of drinking...

It worked.

My fingers burned from the amount of abuse I'd inflicted on them from playing too hard, too long, but I didn't care. The time was spent with Bella, hearing her soft voice, and watching her hair fall into her face as she moved with the instrument in her hands. She'd constantly push the renegade strands back out of her eyes, but they'd still fall, tumbling in thick waves past her cheekbones and brushing against her lips.

I envied her hair.

Neither of us slept much during that week, but when we did, it was on Bella's call. She'd bite her lip and chew her nails, psyching herself up to pull me to the couch again with gentle hands and questioning eyes. I would never say no, I craved the time with her on that couch; I basked in the comfort it brought me to hold her.

We never discussed the strange and wonderful arrangement, and that seemed to be okay for the both of us. I liked that Bella was taking something that she wanted, and I liked it even more that that something was me. Even if it was only in the guise of mutual comfort or friendship, I didn't care. I'd take what I could get, and luckily, what I got was Bella.

On Friday morning, I watched as Bella stretched her body against mine on the couch, elongating herself like a cat before curling back up, her knee draped over my thighs and her hand coming to rest on my chest. I savored these moments, these quiet pieces of time where I got to enjoy her presence, weight, and warmth wrapped around me. It was a selfish contentment, one I knew I didn't deserve, but I took it, because Bella never looked more at peace then when she was sleeping next to me on her couch. I'd allow myself that indulgence because what else did I have to give?

. . .

The nerves hit as the sun sank behind the rows of bungalows on our quiet street that night, and I didn't know how to calm them. Bella seemed to be emanating anxious energy and all I could do was stroke her hair as we sat together on the porch swing, waiting for the inevitable.

"You sure you won't mind riding on the bike?"

"No," she said, shaking her head too vigorously for me to believe her.

I squeezed her shoulders. "You sure? I can call a cab."

"No, it's fine. I've ridden a bike before."

"You have?" I hadn't known that.

"Yeah. A neighbor I spent a lot of time with as a kid. He used to rebuild old cars and stuff. We fixed up a pair of dirt bikes one summer when I was 15."

_Shit, really?_ Bella never stopped surprising me. "My father would love you."

"What?"

"He would. He owns his own shop. He builds custom bikes. It's where I got mine."

"Oh," she said before turning her head away and worrying her hands.

"Hey?" I asked in a soft voice, trying to bring her back to me.

"Yeah?"

"What is it?"

"I've just never heard you mention your dad so casually before."

It took me a few moments to realize she was right. I'd never been so cavalier with that kind of information.

"Huh," I said, not knowing how else to respond.

"Yeah."

. . .

A few hours later I found myself handing over one of my prized guitars to Bella for safe keeping during our ride to the bar. I didn't need much else except for a pick, a cable, and an amp to plug into, and I knew Pete would have those on the rinky-dink stage, ready for each performer.

She latched the guitar case strap across her shoulder and gave me a tight lipped smile after she finished adjusting the case so that it'd lay comfortably against her back. I drew her into a hug before I lost my nerve.

"Thank you, Bella."

Her face was buried in the leather of my jacket, but I felt her nod against me and her fingers clutch at my sides. She was still nervous, I could tell, but she looked up at me with such sincerity that I couldn't help but smile as I climbed onto the old Harley my father and I had restored all those years ago, and waited for her to join me. We buckled our helmets and I kicked the stand back, freeing the bike from its hinged position. Bella's little hands came to rest on the flat expanse of my abdomen and I hissed at the heat of her palms, praying she didn't hear.

"Hold on," I called over my shoulder as I revved the engine. Her hands gripped me harder, and her thighs clenched around my legs, sending my somewhat controlled emotions off the fucking cliff. I bit back a groan and gulped down the sea air, trying to calm myself. Maybe I _should_ have called a cab, 'cause if she was going to do that the entire way over to the bar, I was pretty sure I'd go insane before we even hit Front Street.

. . .

"Jasper!" Pete called above the noise as he came to smack me on the back in the universal macho male form of greeting.

"Hey, man."

"We got you all set to go in about fifteen. You ready? Need a drink?"

I laughed out at the offer, more bitter in my voice than mirth. "No, I'm good."

"You sure?"

"Yeah." Bella's hand came out of nowhere and twined our fingers together in a vice grip. I squeezed back, grateful for the physical grounding.

"Who's this?" Pete asked, his eyes roaming, but for the most part, genuine.

"This is Bella Swan."

"S'great to meet you, Bella. Jasper doesn't usually bring people with him, it's nice to see."

Bella nodded sweetly at Pete and somehow managed to curl herself closer to me at the same time. The noise and the atmosphere were already starting to get to her. I needed to find her a quiet place to sit, and fast.

"Pete, we're gonna head back."

"Sure thing. This is Katie's last song. We've got five minutes in between, then you're up."

"Great. Thanks, man."

"No prob. Good luck!" Pete disappeared into the crowd to greet more people he knew and take a few drink orders. I held Bella tighter to me and worked to get her backstage for some air before she started to shake.

"You okay?" I asked as soon as I closed the door to a back room where people normally warmed up, got fucked up, or just fucked. Band stickers covered every surface of the black walls and ceiling, and the bare bulb lights lined up around the mirrors along the back wall created a harsh glow in the dank room.

There was a couch, though, and it was comfortable. I knew that for a fact, so I led her over by the hand and sat down next to her before taking my guitar out of its case to check the tuning.

"That door locks from the inside. You can stay back here if you want?"

Her eyes widened and she shook her head. "No. I came here to see you. I'm not staying holed up in the den of skankdom."

I laughed at her joke but it did little to break the tension. "Yeah. Stupid idea."

"I'll just sit out by the bar," she said, shocking the hell out of me.

"Really?"

"Yeah. Everyone will be by the stage when you're playing. I'll be good back by the bar."

So that became our plan. I finished tuning my one and only instrument for the evening, and before we knew it, Pete was knocking on the door, telling me to go set up. With a final nod of agreement from Bella, we stood from the leather couch and walked out, heading directly for the bar at the back of the house.

"You see that guy at the door? Tall with the long hair."

"Yeah?"

"That's Seth. The bouncer. He's like a puppy dog, always aims to please. If anyone, _anyone_, makes you uncomfortable, just head straight for him."

She nodded and gave me that same tight lipped smile from before. I squeezed her shoulders and tried to look excited, showing her how much this meant to me. I hadn't played in front of an audience in almost a year and the need to feel the energy pulsing out of a crowd again was getting to me; I craved it.

"I'm good, Jasper. You go."

I gave her one last hug, burying my face in her hair and breathing deep. It was a liberty I normally wouldn't take with her unless we were lying on her couch, but I needed it right then, and couldn't bother controlling that particular urge, I was holding so many others back.

Before I could indulge myself for too long, before the brush of my lips against her cheek descended towards her mouth, I tore away from her and fled to the back room to grab my guitar. One second, I was wrapped in the warmth of her presence, and the next, I was standing up on the small raised stage, staring out into a sea of intoxicated fools, waiting for me to pay my dues and play my rhymes. I did not plan on disappointing.

I introduced myself and laid the charm on thick as I adjusted the mic to my height. Girls smiled at me without shame and the men grunted in a mixture of impatience and cynicism. Wasting time to shoot the shit with these people wasn't something I was inclined to do just then, so I brought my hand down fast on the strings and pulled the neck of my guitar back, letting it wail an abused sound that I could only compare to something base and twisted. My eyes closed and I licked my lips, letting the heat and the musk and the smoke envelop me as I played the role of Pied Piper to the dazed eyes before me.

They followed without a second thought, I had them in my grasp once again, and I basked in the satisfaction.

At the back, I could see Bella huddled under by my leather jacket on a stool, one leg clutched to her chest, her cheek resting on her knee. A small smile curved at her lips and her eyes seemed untroubled. I sought power from her calm, and sang the words to her, tortured and undone. Her smile grew and so did my encouragement, letting go a bit more, little by little, until I was nothing but a wanton man with a guitar in his hands and his soul in his throat.

I'd played five songs straight before even realizing it, only stopping when a string popped on my guitar, sending a twang resonating throughout the room. I smirked down at the surprised faces, wondering at what I'd do next.

"Well now, guess we'll just have ta make do with five strings, won't we?"

The audience giggled their agreement, and I started up a cover of a White Stripes song that relied heavily on the bass notes and not on the high E that had just bade adieu for the night.

Broken strings happened, it was a hazard of the profession. They were a fun way to learn to improvise before you could grab a spare guitar or finish your set. They were never something I considered to be a bad omen until right then, when I saw the bartender in the back edging closer and closer to Bella. She was responding politely to his come-ons, but the image still disturbed me. His expression was not gentle and his posture aggressive, domineering..._get the fuck away from her. _

My anger echoed into the mic, translating into a growl that had the audience cheering for more. I tried to gain back my composure, but the image of Bella's hunched shoulders and blatant flinch at something the dick behind the bar said had me careening towards the pavement. My high was gone. Time to close up shop.

"Alright folks, this'll be my last song. Thanks for being so kind and generous tonight. I appreciate it. You don't know."

The audience clapped and hollered and called for more, but I'd already given them everything. I sang the last song with a fake smile and forced enthusiasm, hoping to salvage the feeling from before and bring Bella's attention back towards me. Calm her, make her smile.

_"Youuuu my,"_ I sang out, feeling my bones rattle in my skull with the force of the vibration. _"My brown eyed girl...do you remember when? A'we used to sing..." _

The audience answered me with a chorus of "_Sha-la-la-la-la-la-laa la la la te da,_" and I found myself jumping with the beat, my hands cutting at the strings, and my eyes pleading for Bella to see; my brown-eyed girl. _You and me. Do you remember, Bella? _

Her brown eyes turned to me, bright and with a smile, and my world shifted on its axis. There was something extra in that look, something more, and it floored me. I didn't even realize that I'd finished the song until the cacophony of noise and stale air pushed towards me on an alcohol saturated wave. I staggered back and took a bow. The audience whistled their approval, and Pete saluted with spastic enthusiasm as I climbed off the stage, aching and buzzing all at once.

People smiled and shook my hand, and slapped me on the arm as I shifted through the crowd, pushing back, pushing closer to her. They had loved the show I'd given them, and my ego did a strut as my conscience focused on the girl. I was proud and dancing on the inside while straining to be near Bella again, feel her warmth, hold her close. It was a strange dichotomy; a bittersweet note hanging in the atmosphere, but if I could get to Bella, than I'd have the best of both worlds, and the nothing else would matter.

When I reached the bar, Bella jumped off her stool and into my arms, my jacket falling off her shoulders to the floor. I scooped her up and held her tight, feeling her melt into me with a sigh. There was something else, though, something worrisome in her embrace. Her sigh sounded too relieved, and my head shot up just in time to see the bartender round the counter and grab the jacket off the sawdust covered ground at Bella's feet.

"This belongs to the little lady, I believe," he said with a smirk.

I felt like snarling back at him as I cradled Bella to my chest. Instead, I just said "thanks" and took the jacket from his hands to place back over Bella's shoulders where it belonged.

"You did a great job up there, man. Wanna celebrate?"

Bella's head whipped backward. "What?"

"The man deserves some liquid satisfaction, baby."

"I'm fine," I said, my arms tightening around Bella. What the fuck was this guy's problem?

Bella tugged on my hand, trying to pull me back towards the stage, but the man leaning on the counter wasn't done taunting me yet.

"You're denying Pete's fine whiskey? That's just cold, man. Way to not appreciate the guy."

"Stop it Jim," Bella scolded. I didn't like that she knew his name.

"Stop what, darling?"

Bella flinched at the endearment, and my anger spiked. That was the second time this man had made her flinch within the hour. It infuriated me.

"You need to stop talkin' to her like that." I spoke in a slow, deliberate tone, trying to hold back the inevitable.

He scoffed. "Like what?"

"Like she's something less than she is. It's demeaning."

"Dude, you really need a fucking drink."

Bella tugged on my arm.

"Whad'ya got?"

The challenge of a question was out of my mouth before I'd even realized that I'd just shot the success of the night to shit. His eyes flashed with excitement and I knew something had snapped. I was no longer operating on the same level of lucidity that I had been an hour ago. The buzz from the performance, the anger I felt at seeing someone make Bella uncomfortable, and the push/pull of all my instincts fighting together at once suddenly became too much.

Three things happened then in rapid succession: Bella's death-grip on my hand tightened, the man rounded the counter to grab a bottle, and I found myself unable to move away from temptation. I was rooted to the spot as I watched him pull a bottle from the rack, my curiosity straining to see what poison he chose.

In other words, I'd unknowingly reached the end of my rope, and I was about to let go.

.

.

.

* * *

A/N: Gah! Oh no she didn't! Yeah, I kinda did. It's gonna be a little rocky for the next two chapters, but I promise resolution of this drama speed bump by the middle of chapter 18. The next two chapters have actually been sitting in my gdocs for the past several months, they were some of the first bits of writing I did for this story. Chapter 18 is one of my favorites, so, let's focus on that. If Ziggy likes it, it can't be too bad.

See you next week. Promise.

Brown Eyed Girl belongs to Van Morrison.


	17. Chapter 17: Broken String

A/N: This night just won't end. The conclusion of this evening in the story, and the drama, will be in chapter 18, but for now, here's B's pov.

Beta'd, as ever, by the loyal and lovely Riri. :-)

* * *

.

.

.

I let Jasper's hand go and watched him as he took his place in front of the mic. His smile was confident, almost dangerous, and within three minutes, he had the crowd eating out of his palm. It was fascinating to see, to watch him command an audience, and I felt a sense of strange pride witnessing him do it.

He didn't shy away from watching me as he played, and I found myself thankful for the dark of the smoke filled room; it hid my blush. Between the weight of his jacket on my shoulders and the weight of emotion in his eyes as he peered over the crowd to look at me, I almost felt unsteady on my stool. I pulled my knee up to my chest to rest my head against, and tried to focus on the incredible sounds he was creating with only his voice and a single guitar. No one should be that good, that explosive with one instrument. My mother would have hissed in jealousy at his talent, and for some reason, that thought only made me smile more.

So why, oh why, did the idiot behind the bar have to go and ruin it all?

At first, his rather persistent little comments were almost endearing. He was trying too hard, but he knew it, and despite the fact that I was the social equivalent of one of those goats that collapse when they hear a loud noise, I managed to muster up a smile for his obnoxious antics.

"Why so sad, girly?"

"I'm not sad. Do I look sad?"

"Yup."

"Oh, well, I'm not," I explained, turning to watch Jasper. The bartender chuckled and braced himself on the countertop.

"What good is it to have Jimmy here at your service, and not use him? People tell me their troubles all the time, girly. I'm better than therapy."

He was referring to himself in the third person, and had actually winked at me. Why didn't I take that as a sign to walk away from the unstable pint pusher, I have no idea.

"I'm not sad, Jim, I'm just worried."

"About what?"

"Getting out of here in one piece."

"Oh, don't worry about that. I'll protect you." I ducked away from his arm. I really didn't want him touching me.

"I'm good. Thanks."

Jasper's voice dropped an entire octive as he growled out, and the audience swooned from the display.

Meanwhile, the bartender—Jim, Jimmy, whatever—had put two and two together, coming up with the conclusion that Jasper was important to me.

Understatement of the century, buddy.

"You're worried about him?"

I nodded.

"Why?" His voice sounded genuinely concerned, and when I turned to see his face, he was nothing but compassion and curiosity. That sad puppy-dog look was why I told him, why I expressed my fear that this place might be too much for Jasper, and that I was proud of him, but scared.

It was a stupid decision. No one should smile after hearing news like that...

Jim did.

I retreated from the conversation after that, focusing entirely on Jasper as he charmed the audience with words and a ridiculously good cover of Elephant by The White Stripes. He was brilliant, and beautiful up there on that stage. So beautiful.

_Don't do it_, my conscience warned me. _Don't fall_.

. . .

Jasper made his way through the crowd after his set, and my smile grew the closer he got to me. I launched myself into his arms, his jacket falling to the floor behind me in a loud thwack against the floorboards. I didn't care, I was too proud and relieved to have Jasper back near me, smiling and pressure-free. He'd done his set, we'd paid our dues; time to go home.

That's when dear ol' Jimmy started talking, and Jasper was not taking anything Jim said lightly. Panic rose within me, as the two men in front of me turned what should have been a quick conversation into some kind of pissing contest. My hand tugged at Jasper's sleeve, and he held me tighter for it, but didn't turn away. And when Jasper took the bait, my heart broke.

I watched in abject horror as the man across the bar leveled Jasper's gaze with a heavy stare. He didn't relent, and the two stayed in a locked bubble of tension and anger for minutes on end. The world seemed to slow and the sounds of the bar dimmed in the background.

Why was he doing this? I asked myself over and over. Why?

The man was challenging him, taunting him. Wanting him to fail. The same man that I had stupidly confided in, because he was there and listened. I had needed someone to talk to, and he was ambiguous and seemingly genuine with his concern. Oh, how wrong I'd been. The second I gave him enough rope, he strung it over a beam and threatened me with it.

My moment of weakness was now biting me in the ass, as the man used the ammunition I'd divulged to goad Jasper into drinking. I couldn't believe that Jasper would take him up on such a idiotic idea, but he had, and now we were stuck, waiting for the poison to be picked.

Bang, Bang. Two shot glasses landed on the counter.

Tilt, Tilt. Two shots poured.

"Don't do it," I whispered to myself with my hands clasped. I must have looked as if I were praying. I wasn't a religious person, but at that moment, I would have gotten on my knees to keep Jasper from picking up that damn glass filled with clear liquor.

Fuck. Vodka. I hated it. My mother loved it. Drank it as if it were water; would pretend that it _was_ water. But water didn't carry a potent smell that would linger in the air like heat on a summer day. Water didn't make one stupid with carelessness. Water wasn't what put my mother into an early grave, but vodka...that was a different story.

One time as a child, I had tried to trick my mother into actually drinking _water_. I didn't know then the difference in taste, or the chemistry behind alcohol. I was little and naive. Mother had always kept her precious bottles in the freezer. She had told me that it was special water, Russian water, and that they spelt it with a V. I was just then learning the alphabet, and mother had apparently wanted to make sure that all her bogus bases were covered.

I remembered taking out a bottle from the freezer—the only bottle I could find at the time—and pouring it down the drain before refilling it with the tap. I thought she was spending too much money on something we could get for free. Why was it so special? It was a cute experiment I had wanted to conduct, so I could prove to her that she didn't need to spend so much to get what was readily available.

Needless to say, my experiment failed. Vodka doesn't freeze, but water, I had found out that very night, does. My mother screamed at me, tears running down her heavily made up face as she jostled me back in forth, asking me why I had done what I did. I couldn't answer, I was too scared. Only when the bottle of frozen water smashed above my head on the plaster wall, shards of glass and ice falling into my hair and onto my shoulders did I break down and tell her that I just wanted to prove to her that she didn't need to buy fancy water. We had a sink, "what was wrong with the water in the sink?" I had asked, in tears.

I wasn't being condescending or sarcastic, or even precocious. I genuinely believed my mother when she told me that the potent liquid in those bottles was some kind of fountain of youth mix of H20. Mother thought otherwise.

That was the first night she hit me. A glass shard from the bottle that had been tangled in my hair connected with her palm as she slapped me across the face. It cut through my cheek and her palm, blood slipping through her fingers as she yelped from the shock.

I didn't wait for the next blow; I ran. My bare feet on the linoleum floor picking up pieces of glass as I went. I didn't care. My mother was no longer present. The woman in the kitchen was a stranger to me, and I wasn't supposed to speak to strangers. So I ran. All the way to Billy Black's house in nothing but my nightgown with my blood stained feet.

A slapping sound brought me out of my hellish memories and jarred me into the present. The bartender was trying to get Jasper's attention since his eyes had migrated south and were now focused on the damned vodka in the glass.

Jasper's eyes were beautiful. Large and sweet, the color of sage. Normally, when I looked into his eyes I could see the age his face didn't show. The years he'd spent abusing his poor, young body. But his eyes never held sadness. No. They would be filled with mirth and mischief—byproducts of the little boy in him responsible for the charm I often battled to resist.

What had I done wrong to bring this upon myself again? Or rather, what could I do to stop the impending clusterfuck that would no doubt ensue once that potent liquid touched Jasper's lips? Alcoholics just don't have one drink. They don't drink just for the sake of it. They drink because they need to, because it's a compulsion, a disease.

God, two months. Two full months of nothing but sweet tea and lemon. Jasper had tamed his compulsion for two months. In the 20 years I knew my mother, not once did she ever get past two weeks of sobriety.

Something snapped in me then. Something hard and blunt severed itself in my gut, causing me to bend almost in half. It was a visceral representation of my fear coming to a head. I was done. I knew then, I was done being scared. I just couldn't do it anymore. I had fought for so long, and I had tried so hard not to get sucked into Jasper's world, but it had happened.

But Jasper, like my mother, was a stranger in front of me. I'd already lost him. It was time to stop being scared. It was time to walk away.

"Jasper," I called, my voice low.

"Hush darlin', he'll be fine," the bartender said to me with his great paw of a hand swiping through the air. I glared at him, hating hearing him call me darling as if he had the right.

Ignoring the idiot, I continued. "Jasper, I'm going home. I want you to follow me."

Jasper's eyes were darting back and forth between me, the bartender, and the shot glass. His pupils were dilated, which meant he wasn't really seeing anything. I took a deep breath and continued. "I'm walking home, and I want you to come with me, Jasper. I'm leaving now. Please come with me."

My voice was as steady as I could make it. I was giving him a choice and a chance. Both of them involved me.

Seconds spanned into minutes. Jasper didn't move and I hesitated in placing my hand on his arm. In the end, with my mind made up, I dropped my hand and exhaled, Jasper's jacket still heavy on my shoulders.

"Okay. I'm gone. Goodbye Jasper."

I didn't look at him as I walked out of the bar; I didn't dare. I was too scared to see his face because if I had given in, I wouldn't have been able to leave. And I needed to leave. Jasper was on his own. Staying there with him would mean that I condoned his drinking. If I did that, I might as well have given a crack addict a rock and a pipe and said, "have at it."

Fuck that. I was done.

.

.

.

* * *

A/N: This is where everyone hates me and wonders "what the fuck happened to Zigs?"

I'm still here. The goal for this story being the whole "finding happy" thing is still my plan. I want y'all to realize what Bella just did, though. That shit was huge.

p.s. Oh, and because this would bug me if it wasn't explained, the way Jasper played Seven Nation Army solo was using a pedal, or a stomp box, on the floor with his foot. You can work a pedal to loop sounds, riffs, and effects. He banged out the main bass drum beat on the belly of his guitar and looped it with the pedal, then banged out the secondary drum beat using the belly of the guitar again, switching to it later in the song as he played.

p.p.s. Jack White is a god.


	18. Chapter 18: Home

A/N: The conclusion of the angst. *sigh* It feels good to say that. It also feels good to send a chapter to Riri that doesn't have a bunch of sadness going on. She keeps on asking me where Zigs went. lol. *foozles Riri*

* * *

.

.

.

I didn't watch Bella leave, but I felt her. I knew the moment she'd stepped out that door and seemingly, out of my life because the manifestation of the loss churned in my gut. My body reacted by sending spasms of pain through my limbs as she walked farther away from me, as if we were somehow bound and she was pulling the veins from my arms with each step. For a moment, I smiled, knowing she was done with me and that life would be so much better for her if my no good ass was out of it. But then, I thought a little harder, figuring how ingrained she'd become in my life, how constant she was, and my face contorted into a scowl.

She was the only thing positive and good I had going for me. The only thing that was pure in my sordid, seedy world. The only thing that I hadn't soiled with my mere proximity. She had stayed pure, and she had helped me pull myself up from the pile of sedentary rocks I'd burrowed under.

Bottom line: I didn't want to lose her. I didn't want to let her go. Yes, I was selfish, but I'd lost enough in my life. I was done with losing. I wanted to win.

Steeling my nerves, I clenched my jaw tight and raised my eyes to the bartender along with the glass in front of me. I held the small vile of poison aloft in my hand, saluting him, and allowing him to think that he'd won. His face said it all: the gleam to his eye and the leer plastered on his snide mouth spoke volumes. He thought he had cracked me, he thought he had triumphed.

He was wrong.

"Your girl's a special one," he said, smiling wide, trying to push me farther over the edge. I glared back at him.

"She's not my girl..." _yet_, I added to myself. This delighted him and he threw his head back in laughter. The fucker actually thought he had a chance with Bella? The girl who despised all things alcohol related? She'd never date a bartender, and if the bastard even tried to talk to her again, he'd be in for one hell of a reckoning.

We sat at a table. I was on the edge of my seat while he lounged over the entire chair, his demeanor calm, smug. With a nod of my head, I told him to pick up his glass, and he did, his Cheshire cat grin still in place.

"Budem!" he shouted, and I allowed myself a single smirk in response. 'Course the bastard was Russian. Hence the vodka.

"Budem," I replied, and before he could blink I poured the ungodly liquid down my throat. My eyes clamped shut as the burn overtook me and I kept my head back, letting the pain to peel down my insides and churn with the loss I felt in my gut, as if it could galvanize my wounds.

I allowed myself one moment of familiar recognition to swirl inside me. The old feeling I'd missed and simultaneously dreaded. One moment was all I had to give, and it's all I would.

The scraping of my chair sounded before I realized my body had decided to stand. Good for my limbs, I thought. They were way ahead of my other cognitive reflexes. Opening my eyes, I leveled the bartender with one last look. I almost wanted to thank him. He'd, in some backwards, twisted way let me prove to myself that I could do it. I could win out on my wants verses my needs. I wanted to drink, yes, but I _needed_ Bella. No amount of alcohol was worth the price of losing her.

The clarity of that realization was startling.

"Where are you going, we're just getting star—" His last syllable hit the air in a wet thwack, thanks to the punch I'd delivered directly into the side of his jaw. He'd been leaning back on his chair, and with the momentum of my swing, he fell off and to the side, landing hard on the sawdust-covered, beer-drenched floor.

The bar went silent as I stepped over the upturned chair and walked towards the exit, giving a nod to a dumbfounded Seth at the door. My boots echoing on the ancient floorboards; it sounded like a death march, except it didn't mean the kind of death I thought it would. On the contrary, walking out of that bar was like being relinquished from my own personal hell.

The sea air hit me square in the face as I stepped down off the porch and onto the sidewalk. I breathed it in deep, allowing the crisp, clean smell to fill my lungs and erase the stench that had been lingering in my nostrils from the mental detour I'd taken inside that god forsaken establishment.

My bike was parked in the back, and my guitar was still inside but I left both, too determined to keep moving forward and away from temptation.

The sounds of the waves crashing against the shoreline lulled me as I slowly made my way home—back to the bungalows, back to Bella. The constant presence of the sea reminded me of her, her steadiness, and kept me focused on what I was leaving behind and what I had chosen ahead of me. Each time the sound of a wave built and tumbled over onto itself, caressing the sand with its current, I felt more and more certain. By the time I'd reached her front porch, I was almost smiling.

It was only when I stepped up those stairs, my boots once again echoing off the boards, did my confidence die. My determination meant nothing if I couldn't share it with Bella, and I had allowed her to leave without me. The weight of that realization laid on me like a boulder on my shoulders.

With a resigned sigh I pushed open the screen door and searched through the darkness of the house for the woman I needed to be close to more than I needed air to breathe. I didn't see her anywhere in the front room, but I heard her...

She was crying.

Somewhere in the dark bungalow, Bella was sniffling.

I toed off my boots, and stepped into the kitchen, my hands out in front of me as I searched for her. God, I didn't want it to be like this. I hadn't expected her to cry. Fuck, I was an idiot.

She was in the bathroom. I found her in the claw-foot tub, her head buried in her arms with her legs tucked close to her chest. Her hair was twisted up into a pouf on her head, and I watched it rattle and bob as her body moved with her soft cries.

Bella didn't deserve this. Christ.

The gangling of the my belt being undone, nor the sound of my jeans hitting the tile alerted her to my presence. It was only when the water sloshed over the side of the tub from my stepping into it without any grace whatsoever did her tiny head pop up from her arms.

"Jasper!"

"Shh..." I said, pulling her to my chest. My heart was pounding from the sight of her. Her face should never look so sad, and worse yet, my idiotic tendencies shouldn't be the cause of her woe. Tonight, they had been, and I needed to fix it. Too bad I was barely holding onto my own damn emotions.

"You're here," she whispered in disbelief as she clawed at my wet shirt, pulling herself closer. My hand came up and pulled free the pen holding up her hair, letting it fall loose down her back. I wanted to run my fingers through it. That had always soothed me as a child, and Bella, right then, needed a whole lot of soothing.

"Yeah, I'm here," I said, sliding my legs out along the side of the tub, realizing too late that my socks were still on. "I'm not leaving until you tell me to go."

"No," she sniffed, "don't go." Her little body was shaking against mine, and I wrapped her tighter in my arms. When I felt something warm and wet on my cheeks, I cursed, knowing they were tears. Fucking hell, I was crying.

Minutes later, Bella noticed as my breaths started leaving my mouth in raged gasps. My body was raging within itself in a war of urges. The urge to drink verses the need to never let go of the woman I was currently holding onto, all mixed with the self-hatred I had considering how much I must have hurt her with my selfish stupidity. I hated to admit it, but I was frightened. I'd almost lost tonight, and I would have lost so much more than just my damn pride. My imagination was providing me with plenty of alternative endings to the evening, and all I could do was hold on tighter to Bella in hopes that her soft body would ground me enough for the onslaught to stop.

Bella's delicate, wet hands wrapped around my neck as she burrowed herself against me. She breathed out little shushing sounds on my skin, keeping her own breaths even. I tried to focus on the warmth she was providing me, and the comfort, but it was a lost cause. I couldn't stop the fucking tears.

. . .

I didn't know how long we stayed like that, wrapped up as we were, but the water in the tub had chilled way past the point of it being comfortable. Not that it mattered. I was wrecked emotionally, and my body might have felt like one large raisin, but the fact that I was sitting with Bella, and that she'd not only accepted me back into her home, but into her arms, blew my mind. Nothing was processing except that fact that I had Bella in my arms.

Shifting in the tub, I felt the soreness of my bones and tried to crack my back, needing relief.

"Let's get dry," Bella mumbled into my soaked shirt. I had kept my boxers, shirt—and apparently socks—on when I stepped in to comfort her however many hours ago.

I wasn't a fool when it came to women, I knew when to keep myself in check.

With heavy limbs, we both lifted our water-logged selves out of the tepid water, and pulled towels down from the rack on the wall. Bella shivered as she wrapped herself up tight, surprisingly unembarrassed by her nudity. She didn't have anything to worry about, I was too drained to notice. Which was a shame considering how soft and silky her skin felt next to mine in the tub. Her body would have been a thing to behold if I had been in the correct mindset to give it its due appreciation.

"Cold," Bella said through chattering teeth as I stripped myself of my remaining clothing and slung a towel around my waist. We looked like a couple of drowned rats when all was said and done.

"Come on," I rasped with a sleep heavy voice, slinging my arm around her. "Bed."

Walking Bella to her bedroom and pulling down her bathrobe from the back of her door to swaddle her in should have been a profound moment for me. Something that marked a new development in this relationship of ours, but I was too preoccupied with getting her warm and under the covers to take it in for what it was.

Bella, however, had other plans. "Stay," she breathed after I pulled the covers over her delicate body up to her shoulders. Her arm reached out to hold my hand, tethering me to her, and preventing me from leaving when I knew I should have.

She didn't let me think, she pulled with her arm, bringing me down onto the bed as she simultaneously made room for me beneath the covers. I laid next to her in a stiff-as-a-board awkward state, not wanting to overstep my bounds or untug the towel from around my waist.

Bella, again, surprised me. She curled her long limbs around me, pulling me closer to her, and making me turn onto my side. Burrowing her head like a kitten into my chest, she said in a voice just above a whisper, "You said you wouldn't leave. I still can't believe you're here. I just want to hold you a bit longer."

My eyes snapped shut at her words and my chest twisted into a contorted mass of muscle and bone. I couldn't breathe, and I was damn near certain the girl was gonna make me start crying...again.

_I don't deserve this_, I told myself as I hesitantly placed my arms around her and squeezed her close, needing the reassurance of her presence just as much as she needed mine. Having Bella as a friend was what kept me from diving into the bottom of a bottle, but this...this new thing between us, this was more than I deserved. It was more than I ever imagined I would get to have with Bella.

Well, I'd imagined plenty of things, but I never dared to hope that they'd come true.

Hope was not something a drunkard like me kept in spades. We all learned early on that our indulgences came with a price, and that included giving up whatever foreseeable future one had.

"Stop thinking," Bella's soft voice drifted into my conscious mind and I turned my head down to see her dark brown eyes staring back at me. Her hand came up and rested on my cheek, the warmth searing my skin and making me groan from the pleasurable heat. "You're home. You're safe. Stop thinking, Jasper," she told me while running her thumb back and forth across my cheekbone. I gave her a slight nod, and she, in turn, buried her head into my shoulder once more, her hand slipping to my neck, where it stayed the rest of the night.

I fell asleep like that, watching Bella nuzzle and practically purr in her sleep against me. She was so trusting, so forgiving. Two things she shouldn't have been with her particular brand of family history, and yet, she was...to me.

On that night of realizations and breakthroughs as I watched her sleep beside me, my mind had brought itself to one more profound conclusion: I was in love with Bella.

Christ, help me_. _I loved her.

.

.

.

* * *

A/N: Daww, Jasper, you've loved her for pretty much half this story. Way to finally realize. I'm proud of you. :-)

Okay, this is the final prewritten chapter. Meaning, I have no more little chunks of futureness written _at all_, so I gotta work on the fly from now on. Ek! I'm also preparing to move (October 1st) so updates might not be weekly anymore. I'm gonna try, but it might be rocky for a bit. Just giving y'all the heads up.

Also, as I post this, Matty and Bobby just broke the world record for the world's longest kiss! :-) Seeing two boys kiss each other non-stop for that long just makes my little slash h00r heart flutter with happiness. *sigh*


	19. Chapter 19: First Step

A/N: It's Sunday! Halloween! The Cradle Will Rock is on the TV, my new pup is sleeping on my feet, and I'm handing over the next chapter of Bourbon and Tea. FINALLY!

Chicklette beta'd. She also encouraged and held my hand. We love her. Now, bake her cookies. Everyone. Enjoy what's below.

* * *

.

.

.

I woke that night, startled from a dream that quickly slipped my mind the moment the faint light from the early morning drifted into my vision. It stole away whatever fleeting memories I'd had of my nightmare and left me with a feeling of unease that I couldn't place.

That is, until I realized I was alone.

I shot up in the cold bed, stifling a cry behind my hands from the implication.

Jasper wasn't next to me.

Crumpling, I pulled my legs to my chest and looked out beyond the sliver of light coming in from the slightly parted curtains to the lawn. Something flashed past the window, but it was too fast for me to see...a bird perhaps. I was too groggy to decipher it further and closed my eyes to stem off the tears.

_Don't think about it. Just don't think about it_, I reminded myself. It was too early, too soon, and Christ, if I wasn't too tired to fully panic. What else could I do but squeeze myself into a tight ball and try to hold off the emotion before it ate its way through me?

Why the hell would I encourage such pain in the first place?

I attempted a sigh but it came out like a pathetic whimper and I squeezed myself tighter together, trying to stay strong. When the bed squeaked and slumped behind me, I screamed.

Arms encircled me strong and fast. I wanted to rebel and run but my waking brain registered the gentle hum Jasper was singing to me and I inadvertently relaxed, letting him rock me on the bed.

"Shhhh, Bella, I'm sorry."

I shook my head, feeling entirely too stupid to speak. Talk about needy. I hated myself in that moment and tried to pull away but Jasper held me tight. "No," he said, "you're upset, let me do this."

A minute passed; he rocked me and hummed, his warm chest pressed into my back and his legs draped along either side of mine. Eventually, I leaned back into him and we slumped against the headboard.

"Man," Jasper said, shaking his head, "this damn night..."

"Sorry," I whispered.

Jasper stiffened. "Bella, you've got nothing to be sorry about."

"My panic attack would suggest otherwise."

"Are you okay now?"

"Yes."

"I...uh...had to use the toilet."

"Oh." If I'd had free reign of my arms—they were entwined with Jasper's—I would have slapped myself in the face. Instead, I just buried my head in his chest, embarrassed by my outburst.

"Hey, it's okay."

I shook my head in answer. It most certainly was not.

"I've given you no reason to trust me, Bella. I can understand you thinkin' I'd left."

Turning around fast in his arms, I scrambled to wrap myself around him as best I could, hoping that I could physically make the image of Jasper leaving disappear from my thoughts. I was so far in over my head, the surface was lost to me. I'd drown soon and not care.

"I won't, cher," Jasper soothed, humming again. "Never."

_Yes_, I nodded, pressing my face into his neck. _Never leave_.

His skin was warm and his hair soft as I nuzzled myself against him, feeling raw on the inside. I felt an urge to press myself tighter to him, move my mouth closer to his skin...something, but I didn't. I turned my head away and curved my chin over his shoulder; melancholy and resigned.

. . .

An odd sort of calm developed between Jasper and I during the following week. It wasn't a tangible difference to the way we'd normally behaved around each other, but there was a definite change.

The gentlemen in Jasper seemed to disappear when it came to personal boundaries. He'd for a good while been bold in regards to showing me physical affection but since that Friday night when he'd shown up in my bathroom and held me for hours in my pathetic state, his want to touch me doubled. He'd play with my hair in the kitchen when I'd put on a pot of coffee, pull me into his lap when we sat on the front porch, wrap his arms around me from behind when I'd look up at my bookshelves to pick a book...the minute he'd show up on my front steps his arms were embracing me, keeping me close.

He was doing just that one morning when Rose decided to make an appearance outside of her den of sin. After dealing with Jimmy the night Jasper played at the bar, the sight of Rose didn't irk me as much as it used to. Jasper had always been opposed to her innuendo laden advances, even those nights when they'd hollered at each other from across my lawn.

Rose's appearance, however, wasn't so much a how-d'ya-do as it was a strip show.

She'd stepped down from her front porch with slinking legs before unfolding a beach chair and placing it in full view of where Jasper and I had been sitting—peacefully. Button by button she undid her cover up, before lounging her long, tanned, annoyingly attractive body in the chair, in the complete opposite direction from where the sun was beating down on the landscape.

It did not escape my notice that her cover-up was an oversized man's shirt. I frowned at its existence as if it'd somehow personally insulted me, knowing that it probably once resided in Jasper's closet.

Jasper grunted at her arrival and held me tighter on the swing. I looked up at him when his grip became uncomfortable only to see mere slits where his eyes should have been as he glared at Rose. I'm surprised he didn't growl.

Rose's show did not end there: after the stripping came the oil. With slow, deliberate movements, Rose popped open the cap of a bottle of tanning oil, and rubbed the skin cancer enabling substance over every sliver of skin she could find. Which was plenty, considering her bikini would even make Brazilians feel exposed.

I would have ignored such antics if the sight of her like that didn't make me cringe. Any red-blooded American man would find the Barbie Doll across the way enticing. Why else did men watch so much porn? For imagery exactly like the one Rose was providing.

My theory was proved correct when a Jeep tore around the corner too fast and practically rolled itself when the driver slammed on the brakes at the spectacle. The salivating jock of a driver then rolled on down the lane, not once watching the road, as he had his fill of Rose's curves. Cats and garbage cans were at his mercy.

That, I had to admit, was funny, and a small chuckle escaped me when the man finally turned at the end of the street and drove on.

Jasper wasn't finding the humor in the situation. In fact, he was fidgeting up a storm as he tried to find a more comfortable position on the swing—something very out of character for his calm, gentle self.

The swing wasn't the source of his disquiet. We all knew that.

"Jasper," I whispered, trying to gain his attention. He looked down at me with weary eyes, and at the sight, something inside my brain clicked into place.

Craning my neck, I brought my hand up to his face and kissed him. It was quick, but it was real, and Jasper's reaction was more I had anticipated. As that first, soft touch ended a strangled whine erupted from him and his arms pinned me to his side. His hand shot into my hair as he took control, and delicate lips turned into bruising tongues as our mouths opened to each other.

I pulled away first, shocked and gasping. Jasper's forehead followed mine, and his breathing somehow soothed me, despite our panting. Closing my eyes, I nuzzled my head onto his shoulder and curled closer to him as his fingers still twined in my hair. We sat in a bubble of twisted limbs and heaving breathes, as Jasper's long legs rocked us on the swing.

It was several minutes before I realized that there was an empty, overturned beach chair on Rose's lawn.

.

.

.

* * *

A/N: Well, damn kids. That was a long time coming. Both this chapter and that kiss.

This took forever, I know. There are reasons, believe me. They involve moving, no internet, no heat, mice, roaches, a cat in the basement, taking in a street dog, and did I mention no internet? It's been crazy!

Regardless, Happy Halloween everyone. I hope you enjoyed Jasper and Bella's first kiss.


	20. Chapter 20: Three Little Words

A/N: Chicklette beta'd this wee wisp of a chapter even though she's sick. :( Someone should make her soup and send her boyporn. She needs it.

* * *

.

.

.

Bella kissed me.

Holy fuck, she kissed me.

On the mouth.

With her lips.

Sweet.

Jesus.

We'd been sitting on the swing, enjoying a rare, cool summer morning when Rose decided to join the party. I wanted to growl when I saw her in my button down, using it as some sort of teasing trigger for me, or Bella, I wasn't sure. Either way, it pissed me the fuck off, and I hated being pissed. It wasted too much energy and left a bitter taste in my mouth, and when Rose was around, I always had that goddamn bitterness on the back of my tongue. It made me fume.

Our little moment of comfortable silence was shattered, and my solace ruined. A need for something wet splashing down my throat, or a want to just punch a wall came over me, and I dreaded both urges. I wanted to stand my ground, so to speak, and not let the bitch get to me, but dammit, she was just embarrassing herself. And she was doing it in front of Bella.

My Bella, my beautiful Bella, whose patience knew no bounds, and whose capacity for forgiveness probably even boggled the saints sitting up on their clouds with their little precious harps. The amount of crap she had to put up with at the hands of Rose was staggering, and I felt responsible for it all. I needed to apologize to her, but Rose's presence had me squirming. So help me, I would never hit a woman, but Rose was testing my will.

But Bella surprised me. She'd been calm as a cucumber on my lap as we witnessed the pathetic show unfold in front of us, and when I felt my temper about to snap, Bella turned in my arms and gave me a look of something very close to determination.

Determination to kill Rose...determination to make her crazy episodes cease...the determination to maybe even get rid of me, since Rose had somehow fastened herself to my own sinking ship...but no, none of those were what my girl had in mind.

Her delicate little fingers found their way to my cheek and then my hair as she moved herself closer, and her eyes darted to my lips before fluttering shut as her breath washed over me. Despite the clues, my eyes remained open, and my mind blank until her lips met mine. I had never dared to dream that Bella would kiss me, and seeing it happen made me feel like a voyeur in my own skin. I couldn't register the feeling until she started to pull away, and that was just fucking unacceptable. Not after this long, not after everything I'd lost.

Some sort of pathetic whimper came out of me at her retreating lips and I snapped, pulling her close and holding her tight to me. I clamped my arm around her waist, crushing her chest to mine as my other hand wound its way into her hair and tilted her head to the side so I could devour her mouth with my own.

She moaned and moved slightly against me, propelling me to kiss her harder, hold her tighter, never let her go. I never would, but she pulled away first, and I followed like a puppy dog after a bone. Her gasping breaths sent shock waves of excitement through me because I had caused them. She was so undone because of me. _I_ made her breathless.

Groaning, I pulled her close again, nuzzling my nose into the crook of her neck and wrapping my arms tight around her. She leaned her head on my chest as our breathing slowed and I didn't even notice that Rose had left in a huff. I was too busy with Bella, too consumed.

"We've lost our audience," she said with a small smile.

I beamed at her like I was fucking five years-old and she was the Christmas tree stocked with presents on Christmas morning. She had no idea how happy she'd just made me. Scooping her up, I led us inside, wanting to take her away from the prying world around us. This was special, this moment, and I wasn't going to share it with anyone but her.

Plopping us both down on the sofa, I took her face into my hands and kissed her again, gentle and soft. I wanted to savor the taste of her lips and the feel of that delicate skin for as long as she'd let me, not daring to take any part of her for granted. Her hands played with a button on my shirt as she let me lead the kiss. She was relaxed on my lap, completely trusting, and I marveled at that fact as my hands found their way into her silky soft hair.

"You're beautiful, Bella," I said, whispering it against her lips.

The small smile came back, but this time, it was tinted with bitterness as she turned away from me and looked anywhere but at my face.

"Bella?"

"You don't have to do that, Jasper."

"What?"

"The whole..." she made a gesture with her hands in the air and sighed before looking at me again. She wasn't exactly forthcoming, but her message was loud and clear.

Fuck. That.

"No, Bella, I do. Because if you don't know, than clearly I've been fucking up more than I thought for the past few months."

She scoffed and looked away again. It was a small sound, as if her insecurities wouldn't even allow her to have the conviction to deny the truth the way she wanted to. I hated that tiny scoff, that sardonic, cynical smile: the one that said she didn't believe me, that she thought of herself as nothing more than ordinary.

I repeat: Fuck. That.

Taking her head in my hands, I guided her face back towards mine and didn't break my eye contact with her as I spoke. "You are beautiful, Bella. You're more than I deserve. And that thought scares me shitless, because I know at some point you're going to want to run—"

"No, Jas—"

"You might." I said, interrupting her. "You'll have plenty of reasons to, but Christ, girl, while I still have you, I'm going to tell you how fucking beautiful you are every goddamn day you can stand to keep me around because I love you, Bella. More than you'll ever know."

I pulled her to me and held her little body close, fucking terrified of what I'd just admitted to her, because if there was ever an excuse for her to run, this was it. Her arms clung to me as she nuzzled herself into my chest and I took those desperate touches as a good sign. She wasn't running, she was holding on tight, and I was right there with her. We were each other's life rafts, and damn if I wasn't the luckiest bastard alive to have her as mine.

.

.

.

* * *

A/N: Daww, see! Happy!

I know, it's short. Next chapter's longer, and it's already written, so you can expect it next Sunday.

Thanks for reading, kiddos.


	21. Chapter 21: Melody Maker Makeout

A/N: Chicklette, part of the fuckawesome tripod, beta'd. We love her.

This chapter is about 2k longer than the last. YAY!

Enjoy!

* * *

.

.

.

Jasper's declaration had scared me cold, but not for the reasons he'd assumed. No, the reason the sharp sting of tears burned at the corner of my eyes the instant he'd started speaking was because he had gotten it so completely wrong. He'd said I'd want to run, that one day I'd tell him to leave. The mere thought of that made me hold him closer, squeeze him tighter. Jasper couldn't leave, I wouldn't let him. I was too dependent, too attached to him to ever let him go.

I couldn't speak after he'd told me he loved me. I could barely breathe, since the idea of him walking out my door and never coming back had me paralyzed. There had been people in my life I didn't mind seeing disappear. People who were like shadows, haunting me from their dark corners, torturing me with their presence: I'd happily say my farewells to them. Many of them I had, and I was better for it, but Jasper was never counted amongst them. Jasper was the seafarer, standing stoic and strong on a decaying ship in an ocean of chaos.

He rocked me in his lap, like he was soothing a child, for however long it took me to realize that my nightmares weren't coming true, but that the opposite had occurred. Jasper was holding me, loving me.

I could only assume that he'd taken the desperate grip I had on him as some sort of acceptance and didn't ask for more. He never pushed. Never.

With a heaving sigh we found ourselves horizontal on the sofa, my head tucked into Jasper's shoulder, as his arms held me tight across my back. I curled myself into him like those first few nights we'd slept together and I prayed for sleep to take me. We were perfect like this. So perfect. Who needed words? They were cheap and fumbled excuses for emotion anyway.

. . .

"You sure about this?" he asked me for the twentieth time. I smiled as I hid behind my bangs.

"Yes, I'm sure."

Jasper pushed the hair from my eyes and held my face between his two calloused hands. He was searching out my nerves, trying to find the tell in my eyes. I wouldn't let him, not today.

The day after Jasper had told me he loved me, we'd gotten a call from Peter. He'd been holding on to Jasper's guitar for a while and wanted to check in. Somehow, between Jasper and him deciding on a time to pick up his guitar, and the requisite small talk, an impromptu jam session in Peter's garage had been planned. Jasper's eyes lit up at the chance to play again, but his excitement quickly faded when he turned to see me at the table, holding onto my glass of sweet tea with white knuckles.

"I won't go. It's okay, Bella. I can play here anytime I want."

"No. He's got a studio and stuff in his garage, right? Jasper, that sounds great. Don't turn that down."

Jasper nodded, his lips tight. He wanted to ask me to come, I could feel it. I sat there, with my cold glass and my white knuckles, thinking of all the reasons I didn't want to go, but then I thought of a reason that I wanted to: Jasper. Watching him. Seeing him so utterly consumed when he really got a chance to play that everything disappeared except his voice and those hands on the frets. I'd kill to see that again.

_Time to get over yourself, Bella._

"When are we heading over?"

Jasper's head shot up, a smile pulling at his lips. "We?"

"Yup. When is this?"

I barely got the question out before I was engulfed in Jasper's arms and heat, his lips seeking out mine. He never did answer the question, he was too busy kissing me senseless in the kitchen. When we finally pulled apart, our limbs still tangled and twisted, I sighed into his neck in contentment. My lips had never felt so deliciously abused.

The next day, when Jasper gave me a look of apprehension after checking the digital display of the little glowing clock on the coffee maker, I knew what he was saying: It was time to go. Back to the belly of the beast to save the damsel in distress. Well, if you could call a guitar a damsel. When it came to Jasper's guitars, though, I wouldn't put it past him.

We took a cab, since Jasper's bike was still parked in the back lot of the bar. Peter's place was right next door, with an old, rickety looking garage sandwiched in between the bar and his home. I walked towards it with only a hint of trepidation darkening my mood. Jasper's hand in mine kept my nerves at bay, and I squeezed my fingers tight around his, craving his calm.

Peter met us on the steps of his porch and lead us into his garage with a groggy smile that read hangover loud and clear.

I felt nervous and edgy being somewhere other than Jasper's house or mine. The garage was dark, smelled of pot, and reeked of boy. Not only the grittiness of the space but the adornments: Bob Marely and J.J.R. Tolkien posters were pinned to the walls, while tie-dyed throws were draped over the leather sofa that sat in the middle of the concrete floor. Underneath it were layer upon layer of oriental rugs, as if Peter were attempting to recreate a Beatles rooftop experience here in his very own "man cave." In the back a sound booth had been built, complete with a red lighted sign that could be switched on to read _On Air_.

"Atmospheric," I said, at loss for a better word. Peter positively beamed at me, and my shoulders hunched on instinct.

"Thanks! I'm kinda proud of her," he mused, looking around the space.

"Her?"

"Yeah, my garage's name is Maria. She's happy to have you by the way."

I nodded my head with a tight smile. Dude clearly smoked too much.

"Well, I'll let you warm up. I gotta make a few phone calls before I can join you two. Just come on into the house if you need anything. There's beers, cokes, and water in the fridge in the back," Peter told us, and I hid my flinch at the mention of the alcohol. Jasper gave him one of those man hugs that boys always doled out to one another, and then grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge and tossed it to me.

"Thank you," I sighed, grateful for more than just the water.

Jasper smiled that devilish smirk of his—it'd made a reappearance since I'd kissed him—and told me to take a seat while he went to go grab what he needed in the back room. He was practically hyper active at the chance to plug in and play out of earshot of Rose and the rest of our nosy street.

I scowled the moment he came back into my line of vision. He had three guitar cases in his hands, cords dangling from his neck, and a tiny Orange amp clutched under one arm.

"Whoa," was all I could say.

"Little help?" he laughed.

With a fumble, I jumped up to help him unload the cases and untangle the cord from around his neck and shoulders, feeling stupid for not having immediately offered in the first place. I had just been so taken aback.

"Jasper, what is all this?"

"Two guitars, a bass, and an amp. What does it look like?"

I balked. "Why'd you grab so much?"

"It's not just for me, Bella."

I nodded, realization hitting me. "Oh, Peter's got a friend coming? That's great," I said, trying to sound happy for him. Jasper rubbed his hands over his face.

"No, Bella. The extra guitar isn't for anyone else."

I stepped back. "No."

Jasper nodded. "Yes."

"Electric guitar?" I blinked at him. Was he insane? I hated loud noises. The only reason why I was going to enjoy this outing at all was because I got to spend time with Jasper and had stashed ear plugs into my hoodie pocket. I'd gladly try and overcome my aversion for him just so I could watch him be so happy, but making the noise myself? Hell. No.

Jasper was already unlatching the cases, revealing what looked like some type of Gibson and a classic Fender Strat. I took slow steps back until the my legs hit the leather sofa and I fell hard onto my ass with a loud plop.

"It's easy, Bella. I promise." He had pulled out the Gibson and was walking towards me with a measured gait, as if corralling a spooked horse. I didn't appreciate the subtle sarcasm.

"This is lightweight, you'll like it," he drawled out in a soothing voice before placing the cherry red instrument in my lap as gently as possible. I looked down at the guitar, its neck and frets perfect for my small hands, and then shifted my gaze back up to Jasper with a frown.

"A Melody Maker, Jasper?" I scoffed. "Really?" *

"What?"

"This is a chick's guitar."

"Well, you are a member of the fairer sex, are you not?" Jasper asked, all southern charm and condescending wit.

"Why can't I play the Fender?" I refused to acknowledge that just because I was a girl, I had to play a chick's guitar.

"I thought you didn't like electric?" he said with a smirk.

"Fine," I huffed before standing and throwing the strap over my shoulders. "That little Orange amp for me? Do you have its larger, more manly older brother somewhere around here for the Strat?"

"You're being feisty. I love it," he said, staring at me with an intensity that made me blush. I looked away, down at the guitar in my hands, adjusting myself to the new weight and the slimmer body. I hadn't played an electric guitar since I was seventeen while hanging with Jacob and Billy Black in their backyard at a cookout. Billy had always let me play around on his old Danelectro that he'd bought for 20 bucks off a hitch hiker. He'd called that guitar a piece of crap, but he loved the damn thing. He'd even taught Jake how to play chords at the age of four on that green monster.

"Bella?" I heard Jasper ask as if from far away. I shook my head and gave him my full attention. "Where'd you go?"

"Nowhere. Memories."

"Good ones, I hope."

I nodded. "Yeah."

"Alright then. Mind if I hook you up?" He asked with a cocky smile and an amp plug in his hand.

"Sure." I swallowed hard, steeling myself for the amount of noise we were about to make. "Can we keep the amps low?"

"I'm sure Peter prefers 'em that way with the hangover he's got." Jasper was fiddling with the knobs on the amp as he spoke, and I noticed a red bandana sticking out of the back pocket of his jeans. The image made me smile. He was such a southern boy stuck in the north; away from his home.

"So, what'll'it be? Stairway? Freebird?"

Jasper chuckled while putting a new strap on the Fender with the Mexican flag blazing up the leather. "You can play Freebird?"

Without hesitation, I grabbed a lighter off the coffee table and started in on the slide portion of the melody, hamming up the notes with lots of warbling on the pickups and using the shitty Bic as my tool to smooth out the sound. The tone was strange on the guitar, it clearly wasn't meant for blues like I was used to, so I ignored the disjointed feeling and played on. When I finished making a fool out of myself, and desecrating one of the songs Billy so dearly loved, I looked up with an apology clear on my face. I was not prepared for the reaction I received.

Jasper strode towards me with purpose, and picked me up, crushing me to his chest, the Gibson limp between us.

"Chirst, Bella," he breathed in my ear, and I shivered from the sensation. "You never cease to amaze me."

I chuckled in an awkward way, my arms trapped at my sides. I was never comfortable with praise. "Does that mean I get to play the Fender?"

Jasper laughed out, loud and deep, and I savored the rich sound that ran like soothing caramel over my frayed nerves.

"Do you really want to?" He asked, placing me back on my feet, and I relented, shaking my head. The red, well worn color of the guitar was appealing to me, and I did like the feel of it in my hands.

_Shit, I'm such a girl_, I thought.

With a satisfied smile, Jasper stepped back to the abandoned Fender sitting against the couch, and picked it up, his fingers immediately finding purchase on a soulful chord that he twisted and pulled until it cried his name and sang to him the way he wanted, without asking. I sat down on the sofa, letting him warm up, and watching the brilliance of his talent bleed itself into the music.

When Peter returned, Jasper told him of my little impromptu slide demonstration. Peter gave me the universal head nod that no doubt translated to: _right on, man_, and then proceeded to dig out a bottleneck guitar for me to play with a real slide. That won Peter a few extra points in my book, but I still stayed close to Jasper while we played. He kept me level somehow, and I needed that calm more than I could readily admit.

. . .

"You were brilliant, Bella. Peter was 'bout ready to propose at one point."

I snorted and tried to hide my blush as we climbed down off of Jasper's bike back at the bungalows. As if I'd ever get married.

At my reaction, Jasper's arm gripped me tighter while we walked across the lawn. When I looked up into his eyes, there was tension and anger hidden there.

"Jas...?"

"Hmm?"

"What's wrong?"

He shook his head and smiled down at me, his lips tight.

He was trying to play it off, whatever it was. I didn't like that, him hiding, so I stopped us on our ascent up the porch steps to kiss him. It was gentle and quick, but he looked like he needed some kind of reassurance, and I was only too happy to give it to him.

Jasper had other plans, however, and pulled me tight against him, shoving his hands back into my hair and practically bending me in half as we arched and twisted into the kiss. I was breathless in seconds and Jasper showed no signs of stopping.

That is, until, the crunch of gravel on my driveway caught our attention, and I broke away from the kiss to see a police cruiser pulling in, almost hitting Jasper's bike in the process.

"Oh my god."

The word mortification did not due the situation justice as I watched my father, mustache and all, climb out of his car, fingering his gun, and glaring full on daggers at Jasper. It didn't escape my notice that Jasper's hand was still perched perilously low on my back as we stood frozen on the steps, and I had to nudge his elbow to remind him.

"Bella?"

"That's Charlie," I said, answering his unasked question. "My dad."

Jasper's eyes grew wide before he stepped back from me, disentangling himself, but still holding my left hand tight in his. With a deep breath he stood taller, and squared his shoulders, looking for all the world like an eager, little boy wanting to impress the grown-ups.

"Hey, Bells," Charlie called as he rounded the car to grab something out of the trunk. I prayed it wasn't an uzi...or a grenade.

Walking down off the porch, step by step, hand in hand with Jasper, I tried to calm my rapid breathing. This was not the way I would have wanted my father to meet Jasper.

"Hi, Charlie."

"I was gonna just drop a few things off for you, but I see you have company."

Charlie had a way of making his voice sound light and conversational while it simultaneously dripped with threatening authority. He never used that voice around me, though. No, his tone was pure show, put on solely for Jasper.

_Shit._

.

.

.

* * *

* The Melody Maker is Joan Jett's guitar. I was having some fun with that.

A/N: It took fooooooorever to get Charlie to start talking to me. I've wanted him to show up for about seven chapters now. lol.

I don't have the next chapter written, and since this week is Thanksgiving, I can't guarantee a chapter next Sunday. You'll have one by December 4th at the latest.

Hope you enjoyed that. Thanks for reading, guys. Happy Holidays!


	22. Chapter 22: Officer Krupke

A/N: Beta'd by Chicklette.

* * *

.

.

.

"Charlie, I want you to meet Jasper, my...neighbor."

Bella's voice was a slight squeak as her cop father made his way up the front porch steps. He eyed my hold on her hand as if demanding me to let go, but I refused. I wouldn't let go of Bella until she asked me to, and I prayed she never would.

"Jasper, was it?"

Nodding, I extended my right hand for him to shake, he stared back at it for a second before scratching the back of his head and turning his attention towards Bella.

"Got any tea, Bells?" he asked as he walked passed us into the house. I took a moment to size him up, wondering the history behind him and Bella. From what I'd gathered, she'd only ever mentioned her mother when she talked about her childhood. Her father was only spoken of in the present tense, and she referred to him as _Charlie_, not Dad or pops, or any other endearment one would call their father. And in the two and half months I'd spent time taking up space in Bella's world, I'd never so much as heard a peep from the guy.

Before I could contemplate the specifics too closely, Charlie himself was, once again, speaking.

"Actually, I forgot something in the car. Jasper, why don't you come and help me with it?"

Well, that was a loaded question if I ever did hear one. Charlie's voice was filled with suggestion, and it wasn't of the flirting variety. I was surprised I didn't audibly gulp and embarrass myself.

"Sure, sir."

Bella grabbed my hand as I walked out the door. "What type of tea did you want, Jasper?" She might have been referring to the refreshments, but her eyes read loud and clear: _are you okay with this? _I gave her a small smile and quick kiss to the forehead.

"Chamomile, cher," I whispered into her skin before darting out the door with her dad, who'd been watching our exchange from the porch.

The sound of crickets and the crunch of gravel serenaded us as we walked to the cruiser, both of us standing taller than the norm, our chests puffed out like fucking pigeons. We were dead obvious, but such is the way with men.

Charlie popped the truck and bent in half to grab whatever it was that he needed, being sure to adjust the gun holster on his belt several times in the process. I stood with my hands in my pockets, waiting to be used, and knowing full well he'd just wanted to get me out of Bella's presence to lay into me. Judging by his dick move on the porch earlier with refusing my handshake, I wouldn't put it past him to try and get a nut punch in.

Surprisingly, Officer Krupke did have something in the trunk, which he pulled out and laid on the hood. It was a present, wrapped badly, but with a big red bow on top, no less. I smiled despite myself.

"What? Did you think I was lying?" His mustache seemed to even dislike me as it twitched with his words.

"Truthfully?" Yeah, I totally thought he was lying.

"Everything out of your mouth better be the truth, kid. That's my girl in there."

"I know, sir."

"Then let's cut the bull and get to it. I don't like being a hard ass, but I've got nothing in my life that's more important than her happiness, so what's the deal?"

"The deal, sir?"

"Yup."

"I love her."

Charlie's mustache twitched again, as if he were about to call bullshit on the whole situation, but instead, he ran his hand over his face and leaned back on the door of the car with a heavy sigh.

"Shit."

I said nothing; what else was there to say? I'd given him his answer using the only words I knew how, and I wasn't embarrassed by them, or scared to say them. It was true, I loved Bella. And if this man wanted to make sure that I was treating his daughter right, telling him that his girl held my heart in her hands seemed to be the best way to break that particular block of ice.

"You're serious?"

I nodded.

"When the hell did this happen?" That question seemed to be more of an internal pondering that he'd let slip, but I answered all the same.

"Over these past few months."

"Christ."

Charlie stood with his hands on his hips, staring at an insignificant spot on Bella's lawn. His mustache continued to twitch every minute or so, but he stayed quiet, and I, in turn, stayed quiet right along with him. The sound of the kettle whistling off in the distance was the only thing that brought our awkward silence to a halt.

"We should get back." I pointed behind me with my thumb. Charlie nodded, still staring at that same spot of lawn before starting to walk on ahead towards the house. I cleared my throat to gain his attention. He turned with a raised eyebrow.

"The present?"

"Oh, right." He flushed slightly as he grabbed the box off the hood and trudged on up the steps of the porch. I smiled at the crack in his demeanor. There was a man beneath the cop, after all.

Bella had put out three mugs on the small kitchen table and had moved the guitars from their regular spot against the far back wall, to a corner in the living room behind the unused TV. Charlie's sharp eyes spotted them anyway, but he said nothing as he sat down and grabbed the mug closest to him.

"Thanks, Bells."

She smiled at her father, and sat next to him, leaving me standing in the living room with a hand in my pocket and nothing to do. Great.

"You gonna sit down, kid?"

Charlie hadn't even turned to look at me as he asked. I held back a sigh and took my seat across the table from them, feeling oddly pushed aside like the guitars.

We all sipped our tea for an awkward moment, the crickets being the only thing cutting through the quiet of the house, none of us opting to start first. Needless to say, I wasn't expecting Charlie to pipe up by with, "Jasper here says he loves you, Bella. That true?"

I choked on the hot liquid, and felt a sting to the corner of my eyes at the tea burned down my throat. Sweet Jesus! Charlie's mustache twitched in amusement at me from across the table, but I couldn't find the endearment in it this time. He wanted to play? Fine, let him play. I wasn't embarrassed by such a statement, I stood by my word. I loved Bella. Wholly and truly.

Bella's chin tutted out as she gathered herself before speaking.

"It's true."

"Huh?" Charlie shifted in his seat, clearly not expecting that answer.

"I love him, too."

Her voice had been so soft I'd barely heard it over the scrapping of Charlie's chair, but when she looked up at me with eyes full of vulnerability, I cracked and moved towards her on instinct, landing next to her chair on my knees.

"Really, cher?"

She nodded, biting her lip, and I brought my thumb up to keep her from hurting herself.

Charlie, not wanting to miss a moment to emasculate me, cleared his throat, and Bella jerked back with a start.

"Seriously, Bells?"

She nodded again, hiding underneath her hair. I tucked a stray strand behind her ear, wanting to see that beautiful flush on her skin.

"Kid, you wanna give her some space?"

No, actually, I didn't. I wanted to kiss the hell out of her and take her to the closest bed I could find, but considering that her father was glaring a third eye into my forehead, I shifted back on my heels and took comfort in just holding her hand.

"Well, uh..." Charlie scratched the back of his neck and shifted his eyes to the table. I felt for the guy; this moment wasn't really one couples usually shared in front of their parents. Then again, if Charlie hadn't been such a dick earlier, I might have wanted to be more respectful in his presence, and not entertain the thought of pulling Bella to me and kissing the ever living daylights out of her. Gun holster be damned.

"Sooo, how'd you two meet, then?"

Charlie looked about as comfortable as a bleeding shrimp in a shark tank, but at least the man was trying. His question, however, was a complicated one to pose.

How did we meet, exactly? Bella and I turned to each other, simultaneously asking for help and looking for clues on how to begin. I rubbed my thumb over the back of her palm, retook my seat across from her father, and decided to explain as best I could.

"I live next door, sir."

Charlie nodded, expecting me to continue. Despite my want to give him more information than that, I couldn't think of the right words, everything died in my throat.

_Well, sir, you see, I was having a shouting match with this woman I used to have what you'd call a rather sordid relationship with on Bella's lawn one night, hit my head on her steps, and passed out dead drunk. I woke up to the sight of your daughter offering me tea right before I puked all over her bushes and garden gnomes. It all started from there. _

Yeah, that's not exactly the kind of tale I wanted to tell this girl's father, who happened to have a loaded weapon on him.

"He offered to help me with the garden. He'd weed and plant, and I'd make him sweet tea as he worked."

Bella's soft voice was placating and gentle as she patted Charlie on the back of the hand. She'd made it all seem so sweet, almost wholesome, and I found myself wanting to kiss her senseless all over again.

"That all?" Charlie seem skeptical. I didn't blame him. He was a cop, if he wasn't seeing holes in our story, than I would have started wondering why he was allowed to carry a loaded weapon.

"Mostly." I gave him a strained smile, and Bella squeezed my hand.

"She's never mentioned you in any of the letters."

"Letters?"

"I write Charlie every week or so," Bella whispered, her head bowed.

"Oh."

"Yeah, so, you can understand my surprise when I show up here and find out my daughter's got herself a gardener slash boyfriend I've never heard about."

Great, back to the hard ass act. And we were getting so chummy there for a minute.

I sighed and stood from the table. Time for me to give papa some space before he shoots my ass.

"I just remembered, I gotta turn over the laundry before it gets to stinking. I'll see you later, cher." I leaned over and kissed Bella on the forehead and then nodded at her father, who was eyeing me like a hawk from across the table. "Nice to meet you, sir."

And with that, I left out the back door, balling my fists as I went. The stress of his visit was starting to nag on my will to keep calm. I was too level for this shit, and really needed to refocus.

The letter thing didn't bother me, it actually made me feel a sense of relief to know that Bella was in contact with her father more frequently than I had assumed. It's good to be close with your family, especially with a family as small as hers. She never mentioned anyone besides Charlie or her mother.

That thought only made me think of my own parents back in Texas, and my grandparents in Georgia. I'd shut them out from my life so completely and for so long, I'd always felt a stab of guilt whenever to dared to think about them. Christ, I missed them.

Shaking my head of all melancholy thoughts, I trudged up the steps of my back porch, determined to pull myself together. I hated reacting strangely to situations. It was so unpredictable now, the way certain things could put me on edge, as opposed to when I'd always been lost in a cloud of haze, drunk, and constantly turned to the luke-warm setting of semi-consciousness.

As I walked into my kitchen through the back door, I found myself smiling despite the mess of emotions swimming through my mind. One determined little thought kept pressing itself up against the front of my brain, letting all the others fall by the wayside in my head. It was clear and it was present, perfectly framed in my mind's eye as the single most perfect bit of information I'd ever had the privilege to be given.

Bella loved me.

.

.

.

* * *

A/N: Musical suggestion for this chapter: Hallelujah - Jeff Buckley.

Why was Jasper calling Bella _cher_ every which way? Duh, Charlie was calling her Bells. He was unintentionally compensating the endearment and trying to stay on the same level as her father. Boys will be boys, after all.

I'm sorry for the long wait. I know I said the 4th and right now...I don't even want to look at the date. Too many things to do before the holiday, but I'm happy to get this to you before Christmas. I'm a little proud of myself even, because three days ago? This chapter was sitting at 110 words with no direction. The fact that it's even completed is a wee miracle.

Oh, and if you want to read some fun Holiday slash, check out the Make the Yule Twi'd Gay LJ. Lots of one shots popping up filled with pretty boys kissing other boys. I'm finishing up a one shot for it as we speak. It should be posted soon, I'll link to it on my profile.

Have a Happy Holiday everyone! Or, as we say in Irish, Nollaig Shona!


	23. Chapter 23: Three Little Words refrain

A/N: Beta'd by Chicklette, who's been sick for a wee while. I hope you're finally feeling better, bb. And thank you to Meghan for the pre-read and an extra boost of confidence for this chapter.

Enjoy.

* * *

.

.

.

I sat for a good minute, staring at the back door through which Jasper had departed, wondering if telling him so soon was a mistake. My feelings for him were not new, they'd been developing into something much larger than I could willingly comprehend for weeks. I couldn't begin control it—even though I desperately wanted to—but having said them aloud gave me a new sense of contentment. It made a difference, it really did, and I wished I could be near Jasper at that moment to show him.

Now, if only my father weren't being a dick about the whole thing.

"Charlie—"

He jumped on top of my words before I even managed to fully form the thought. "I know, Bells. I'm sorry. That was rude of me."

I turned toward him, shocked.

"I know, I know you're angry. I uh..." he trailed off, scratching the back of his neck as he attempted to find the right words. We weren't big talkers, so this conversation felt like pulling teeth for the both of us.

"It was mostly for show, I get it." I sighed, and pushed back from the table, going to refill our tea cups with more hot water. The first batch went ignored during Charlie's inquisition.

"No. I mean, yes. But. Dammit."

Charlie was staring hard at the table when I placed a fresh cup of tea in front of him. He looked up in time to grab my hand, his eyes sincere and filled with his apology.

"This isn't easy for me, Bells. I just got you back."

"I'm not going anywhere," I said, reassuring him with a small smile, even though he'd actually had me _back_ for five years.

He watched me as I sat down, as if he could keep me in a limbo where boys didn't exist with only his eyes. He was such a dad in that moment.

Charlie and I had had a hard time finding a middle ground when the State tracked down his records and told him he'd had a daughter he'd never knew about. He was outwardly angry about the situation, and I knew why: he'd felt robbed. After getting to know him as my father, as opposed to the mustached man in the picture the social workers had shown me, I realized that he'd wanted a family. He'd wanted children, a lot of them, and for one shitty reason after the next, had been curtailed from starting such a life.

He'd also loved my mother desperately during their time together, and knowing she'd kept this from him made the mild tempered man in front of me, furious. I remembered him talking on the phone to someone once when I was seventeen and had just moved in. He'd mentioned not getting a chance to see my first steps, hear my first word, or drop me off at school for the first time. _"I don't even know what she likes to eat,"_ he said, his voice breaking. I ran upstairs at the sound, away from his emotions, still so scared about being in this strange man's house, while missing my mother and hating her simultaneously for keeping me from him. Of all the men she'd brought in an out of my life, why not Charlie?

I saw how similar we were the longer I lived with him, and when time came for college and life outside the bubble he'd created for me, he started to crumble again. He was more fragile than he'd ever let anyone know, but he'd given me a safe place to land when I had nothing. Why would I ever run from such kindness?

Charlie witnessing Jasper kiss me, and learning that I loved him, was understandably hard to take in. I wasn't even handling it that well.

"Jasper's a good guy."

That seemed like such an inadequate description, but it was all I could force out.

"He better be."

Charlie's voice was so gruff, I couldn't help but laugh a little. He looked up at me with a hurt expression before the tiniest bit of amusement drifted across his features. We shared a look before he shook himself of his emotions and picked up the abandoned present from the floor.

"I brought you this."

"I see that."

"Yeah, well...thought you'd like it."

I took the package from Charlie with a smile, silently wondering when he was going to stop giving me garden gnomes. Not that I minded, it was an endearing gesture coming from him.

He'd gotten the notion into his head that I liked having a lawn full of short, stubby men when I'd first moved into the bungalow. How he came to this conclusion? I'll never know. I think he just liked being able to give me something. He was always trying to compensate for the years he'd missed out on, despite the fact that none of it had been his fault.

Opening up the box, I spotted a little lady gnome dressed like a milk maid, and grinned at her.

"Thanks, Charlie."

We shared a short hug and a bit more conversation before he told me he had to get going. He unloaded a cooler from the front of his cruiser, filled with extra food he'd made me over the week, piling my counter high with entrees.

Ever since I'd moved out, he'd started teaching himself to cook as an excuse to drop by. Not that he'd gotten much of a chance to this summer, the beach crowd having kept him up to his elbows in DUI paperwork and confiscated dime bags.

"Don't stop writing, Bells," he called as he pulled out of the driveway. I nodded, knowing he wanted me to keep him updated with my life, and to also stay focused on my silly little bits of personal writing I'd long put aside in favor of closing myself off from the world. The letters were his way of keeping me in the habit, regardless of the content.

"I won't." He didn't hear me as I waved goodbye from the porch, but the sentiment was there.

. . .

Walking into Jasper's house was strange. The last few times I'd been there, things had not gone as smoothly as would have liked. I forced myself into a sense of calm as I shut the back door, but when I saw Jasper, doubled over in the kitchen, my anxiety shot through the roof.

"Jasper!"

I landed next to him in an inelegant plop, only to see him looking at me with a confused expression as he touched a hand to my cheek. "You okay?"

"Me? Why are you on the floor?"

"I broke a glass."

"Oh." I looked down and saw large chunks of a low ball, half swept into a dust pan, and half scattered across the linoleum.

"It's not what you think."

My head snapped up at his words. "What?"

"I wasn't going for a drink, Bella."

"Oh! No. That's not it. I know that. I was just...I worry."

"I know."

He leaned in to kiss me, but halted at the last second when he noticed my bare feet. I pouted at the tease; I'd wanted him to kiss me.

"Shit, Bella." Grabbing me around the waist, he lifted me up into his arms. "You coulda gotten hurt."

I had to smile as Jasper deposited me onto the sofa with a gentle kiss, before he retreated back into the kitchen to deal with the mess. If Charlie could only see this version of Jasper, the one who cared for silly little things like the safety of my unprotected toes, he'd understand.

Which reminded me...

"Charlie's sorry he treated you like that; he wanted me to tell you."

Jasper was pushing a vacuum back and forth over floor, and his head tilted to the side with a curious expression as I spoke, probably only catching every other word. When he was done, he looped together the cord and lugged the vacuum into the corner before asking, "Sorry, whad'ya say?"

"Charlie apologized for his behavior. I'm sorry, too. I didn't know he was going to show up like that. He hasn't gotten a chance to visit this summer."

"I'm glad he came."

I looked up at his declaration, having been focusing on twisting my hands together in my lap. Jasper's face was all business; he'd meant what he said.

"How? I mean, I love him, but he was so rude to you."

"Because," Jasper said with a smile, advancing on me, "it let me see this." He took my face between his hands and stared into my eyes with a softness I could barely comprehend. For all the gentleness of his features, his intensity held me breathless.

"I don't understand."

"Yes, you do."

I blushed, wanting to hide, but unable to; Jasper's hands kept me in place. He knelt before me and moved closer. "Say it again."

I couldn't. I felt trapped. I wanted to tell him, but doing it to his face, directly in front of mine, was so much harder than it'd been at the table where I'd hidden behind my hair and Charlie's presence. There was an irony in there somewhere, but I was too twisted to find it.

"Please," he said. "Let me hear it. One more time."

He sounded so resigned, so utterly undeserving, that it distracted me from my fear.

"Only one?"

"I don't dare to hope."

"Jasper," I breathed, closing my eyes. Why couldn't he see how deserving he was? How fucking hard it was to give up an addiction for someone, and that he'd done it. He'd stopped drinking for himself, surely, but the catalyst had been me. I couldn't ignore that fact, it was too important. He'd done something so completely selfless for an almost-stranger, and despite the greatest temptation, he'd stayed fast to his conviction.

He never let me down.

"Jasper...Jesus, how could you not know?"

"It didn't seem right for me to even wish..."

"That I'd love you?"

He smiled at the word. It was heartbreaking.

I pushed off the sofa, crawling down into his lap. I couldn't get close enough.

Hiding my head behind his shoulder, I whispered, "I'm scared."

"I won't leave you, Bella. I can't."

I squeezed him tighter.

"I love you, Jasper."

It was quiet, it was all I had, but Jasper heard, and he pulled me back to face him.

"Again. Please."

"I love you."

He shook his head, as if he couldn't accept it, but I kissed him, making him feel me. He'd know then. He'd know forever.

.

.

.

* * *

A/N: I wanted to humanize Charlie. I hope that came through.

I have the next chapter written. You'll get that next Friday. Promise.

I know people sometimes rec stories in their a/ns. I've yet to do that, but I just read something so shocking and beautiful that I feel the need to share it with you. Wings by In a blue bathrobe. It's just been added to my favorites.

Thank you for reading.


	24. Chapter 24: Heat Lightning

A/N: Thank you to Mac for her awesome, on the fly beta skills. Hot damn, girl. And Chicklette, my love, thank you for pre-reading and holding my hand.

'Tis short. But I think you'll forgive me.

* * *

.

.

.

Bella kissed me. She loved me, and she'd kissed me.

I was holding her in my arms, feeling loved and being good n' kissed.

Life was good right then, despite the thunder cloud we heard rolling in over the horizon. I kept Bella close as the claps rumbled through the sky, and we moved to the porch to watch their advance. There was something so impressive and simultaneously intimidating about the minutes right before a storm.

Living on the water was one of the reasons I'd picked this block—and my sad little bungalow—when I'd moved. Watching the weather from the porch was what we did in the South on a lazy day; adding in the view of the ocean made my times in a stupor that much more interesting. But now, with my wits about me, staring out at its waves and froth, I found a deeper appreciation for the natural beauty watching the ocean swells churn and spill, providing a constant, rhythmic salve for my wounds and, hopefully, for Bella's. I held her tight as she perched on my lap and enjoyed the calm washing over us with each salty breath of wind.

I felt a strange anticipation overtake me as the wind turned from soft and gentle, to harsh and deliberate gusts of damp air. We were protected under the porch, but still, there was a feeling around us, one both still and frenzied. It felt like a tease. I sank into it, trying to absorb the sensation, not wanting it to disturb Bella's peace.

As the sun dipped down behind the bungalows, turning the sky from cornflower dusk to tangerine eve to purple night, we sat and listened and watched as the Heat Lightning came to join its brother, flashing in the sky while Thunder laughed its approval.

Bella shivered against me, despite the heat of the night, and I held her tighter, wrapping my arms around her, impossibly close. Our bodies clung to each other with the stick of sweat, but neither of us moved; the peace was too great, and too rare. I could tell Bella didn't often feel this relaxed. She wore her anxieties on her sleeves, and they crackled and flecked white sparks each time she struggled to overcome another memory or fear. Tonight those sparks were dimmed, replaced with the slick of her skin against mine and the crackle of a different kind of energy, one that kept me clutching her tight.

When the sky opened and rain poured down, hitting the shingled roof of the porch, Bella jumped and turned her face into my neck. She'd fallen asleep, and the sound had startled her.

Her movement roused my own consciousness, having drifted into a sort of trance with the push/pull of the swing and the crash and clap of the water and thunder. I curled myself around my girl as she nuzzled into my neck with the sweet brush of her lips against my throat.

A breath of a moan escaped her, and my need to be close to her cemented into one of a different kind.

"Bella, let's go inside."

She nodded against me and stood from the swing, taking my hand in hers as she dipped her head and led me along, across the lawns to her house.

Rain soaked my overheated skin, and the wind lashed at the burning in my gut. The large drops fell fat against my face, and I paused on our trek to tilt my head back and take it all in, needing the moment to collect myself.

I felt Bella move close to me, her mouth searching, only to press soft kisses against my collarbone. I tilted my chin down, seeking out those lips, wanting them.

We pressed close together in the grass and the rain, and things felt fundamentally altered when we broke apart, gasping and grabbing for hands. Our feet moved faster: over mud, up steps, and through the front door. The lights were off when we entered. Only the stove light in the kitchen glowed through the front room, helping me see the image of Bella wet and wanting before me.

She walked me to her room, her brown eyes large and filled with expectation. She was taking what she wanted. I encouraged the paradox that she was: all bold movements and cautious steps.

In silence we shed our clothes, watching as each damp bit of cloth fell to the floor with a soft thud. Our feet were bare, and I saw as Bella's toes twiddled with the chill of the fan circulating the air in the room. She shivered as her shirt dropped from her hands, turning her face from me, and I moved forward, wrapping her up in my own naked arms.

Her back arched into me, and I felt everything at once, moving with a cool brush of damp skin against my own. I groaned at the incredible shift of energy in the room; it coursed through us both, driving my need. I dipped my head to kiss her lips, jaw, neck, collarbone, and chest, drawing in the flavor of her skin as I went, savoring it all.

She walked us backward, and we fell onto the bed, my head landing on her soft, pale stomach. I nuzzled my nose into the skin below her belly, drifting a hand down past her angled hip bones to her thighs. I'd held her in this bed, naked in my arms before but not with this sense of feeling so completely whole.

Bella's soft gasps of inhaled air were the gentle chorus to the thunder claps outside the window. Rain pelted against the glass and down on the roof as my hands explored and touched every part of the beautiful girl before me—the lightning flashing me glimpses of her perfect skin. I wasn't deserving enough to call her mine, but I think she'd made that decision for me, and I was only too happy to be led.

Her soft commands of _more_ and _please_ and _come here_ were what kept me from getting lost in my own amount of overwhelming sensation; she felt incredible, better than anything before.

The pang of guilt that sliced through me at that realization was quickly rendered a memory when Bella's hands found mine and helped me slide into her. An immediate want to move fast and unrepentant inside of her overcame me, but I held it down, watching her face and letting myself be steered by her gentle hands.

Together was better.

Together we escalated. Together we moved and pushed and arched and panted, tangled and sweaty.

The frenzy peaked and tugged in my gut, and I stilled, looking back down into Bella's eyes. She was more important; she needed to be first.

My fingers found her, teasing and moving until she was twisting into the sheets and calling my name. Her nails dug into my back and pulled me closer, deeper, and I pushed ahead, wanting her to take everything from me.

She did.

In a moment of sudden, pleasured panic, I felt a high so pure I was petrified it'd end before I could fully wrap it up in comprehension. My body moved independently as my mind pulled itself free of consciousness and into a place of euphoria I'd thought I'd lost so long ago.

I'd tried so hard to deaden all my senses, not wanting to feel ever again. But this was different; this was a formula that when solved created something you shouldn't be able to kill, and thank God I'd failed.

Being with Bella was right. Whatever bitter fight I had left in me that still demanded retribution for all the losses I'd suffered finally gave up then and there because I'd found my retribution. I found everything when Bella said she loved me. Cementing that into a moment of perfect physical connection was everything. Bella was everything.

Riding out the wave of sensation, I rocked my hips gently into Bella's, letting the delicious aftershocks I'd missed shoot through our electrified limbs. She panted and moaned into my skin, and I kissed and smiled into her hair, dazed.

Dazed and loved and spent from the most natural of all highs.

The rain continued, and Bella slept on and off, rolling over to find me twice again throughout the night. She'd throw her leg over my hips, taking the lead, and we'd move together in a haze of heat and starved affection. I wanted to give her everything; we'd start with this night, and the rest would come with time.

Breathed whispers of words echoed over the storm, and when we fell against the sheets, tired and deliriously happy, I scooped her up, never planning on letting her go ever again.

.

.

.

* * *

A/N: I wrote this listening to the Mumford & Sons station on Pandora. It kept me in a chill frame of mind. Thank Eddie Vedder, too. Damn, I love that man and his voice.

No mention of condoms? Yeah, uh...they get in the way in terms of writing but in my head these two were being safe and using a glove for their love.


	25. Chapter 25: Blood in the Grass

.

.

.

Waking up next to Jasper was normal. Waking up naked with Jasper's limbs wrapped around mine so tightly it felt as if we'd never part? Not so much. I smiled into my pillow, feeling him hot and present pressed against my back, wanting him there more than he probably knew.

I tried to stretch out the kinks in my body, but couldn't with Jasper curled around me. So, I snuggled deeper into his embrace and attempted to fall back to sleep—it was barely three and the rain had yet to let up.

But as I shifted in the sheets, I noticed a shadow streaked across the floor that was not familiar to my eyes. There was nothing in my room that would make that shape, and as I turned my head to look down the bed towards the door, what I saw made my heart freeze in my chest.

"Jasper," I breathed out, petrified. He didn't stir, only held me tighter. At that moment, I found no comfort in his embrace.

There, in the doorway to my bedroom, stood Rose.

She was visibly shaking and something was hanging from her right hand. From my reclined and vulnerable position on the bed, I could see part of whatever she held catching the light from the street lamp outside. I strained to distinguish if it were a weapon or a bottle—both would do damage.

An eternity of silence stretched out before me, like a limbo of uncertainty. The only advantage I held was Jasper's strength, but he was asleep and unresponsive to me pinching his arm. I didn't want to make a sudden move, for fear of alerting the feral cat in my doorway. Rose was shaking and her eyes were wide, she wasn't really there inside herself, and her blatant crazed demeanor terrified me.

"Rose..." I said with as clear a voice as I could manage.

"He's supposed to want _me_," she whispered, her voice a harsh bite of venom in the air. I could almost feel the pain laced behind it.

I made the mistake of looking at him, asleep and oblivious to what was happening around him. He looked so content and beautiful with the dim light reflecting off his skin, tinged blue in the dark.

Whatever expression that crossed my face at that observation made Rose snap. She screeched out a banshee-like wail of sadness, regret and anger—I'd never heard a person make such a noise. Before I could react, she hurled something above her head and smashed it down onto the metal rail of the bed, over and over.

A twang of broken, resonating sound echoed throughout the room as I cringed into Jasper's side and he jerked awake from the noise. His arms held me tighter on instinct, and I flinched as splinters of wood and metal showered down on us.

It felt as if the world were moving in slow motion—with Rose's wails sounding muffled in my ears—as I reached out a hand to pick up a piece of stained mahogany lying on the duvet.

Rose ran down the hall, still manic and screaming, and Jasper scrambled out of bed to follow, asking me if I was alright while shoving on a pair of jeans. He cursed as he trampled on the debris covering my bedroom floor, before disappearing down the hallway.

I was left in my bed, surrounded by pieces of colored wood and steel-coiled string, feeling my world collapse inside of me.

With shaking hands, I reached to turn on the lamp next to the bed to see the piece of wood still clutched in my hand more clearly. As the flicker of light shot through the room and my eyes adjusted enough to take in the aftermath of Rose's outburst, my worse fears were realized.

My mother's guitar...shattered.

Hissing, I opened up my clenched fist, where the splinter of wood still lay, now mixed with blood as I'd held it too tightly. I watched the red wood and the red blood mingle as my vision swam.

I pulled up my knees and buried my head, ready to let out a wail of my own, when the echo of screeching tires and shouts cut the silence of the night. I shot up, terrified at the sound of a wet thud hitting metal, and car tires coming to an abrupt stop.

Launching myself out of the bed, and crying out as I skidded across the splinter laden floor, I grabbed a robe to cover myself reciting _please, please, please not him_ the entire way down the hall and out the front door. The last of my mother had just been taken from me, if Jasper were next...I couldn't think...I couldn't comprehend, just..._please not him_.

Jumping down from the porch, I fell to my knees upon seeing the sight outside my door. Jasper was there, standing and whole, but there was blood and blonde hair and long limbs mangled and laying at odd angles in the grass. Rose had been hit, and she was splayed out on my lawn like some kind of broken angel with tattered, blood soaked wings. A large man stood over her, his hands in his hair, pleading with Jasper that it wasn't his fault. They didn't see her, she'd just tore into the road as they turned the corner...he'd never meant for it to happen.

There was so much regret in his voice, my eyes began to tear. They fell, silent and steady down my cheeks, mixing with the misting rain, as the man fumbled while dialing his phone: _911._

His friends called out from behind him in the Jeep, telling them to leave her. They were drunk, I could tell, and I hated them on instinct for their stupid, non-thinking cruelty. They were responsible, and only one of them stood on the lawn, taking up that responsibility. Before I could take in much more of the sight before me, the Jeep sped off and the large man was chasing them down the street, shouting, "_Fucking cowards!_"

Fucking criminals more like. The man turned in the road and marched back to Rose in the grass, sinking hard to his knees, hovering over her with desperate hands.

I felt arms surround me and I screamed. The man's head shot up to look at me for the first time and I fumbled in Jasper's steady embrace, feeling foolish and broken, and the tears became impossible to stop. I turned and buried my face into Jasper's chest.

"Is she alive?" I asked, terrified of the answer.

"Yes."

We sat there in the rain soaked grass, holding onto each other as the large man kept guard over Rose. Sirens howled in the distance and we waited, listening as their blasts became louder and louder.

Finally, lights appeared in my vision, and men in dark jackets with large, white letters printed across their backs were on my lawn assessing Rose. A brace was secured around her neck and she was carefully placed onto a stretcher, her once perfect body looking twisted in so many wrong directions.

The large man stood tall as he gave his name and identification to the cops: _Emmett McCarthy, 256 Vigil Street. _Once he'd completed answering the cop's questions, he insisted on riding in the ambulance with the girl. He felt responsible, and wanted to be there when she woke.

In a distracted sort of way, I found myself looking around the scene, both hoping for my father and wishing that he wouldn't be anywhere near.

"Do you know her name?" I heard the cop ask, and Emmett's stoic expression faltered.

"Emmett!" I called, trying to make my voice sound strong as opposed to weak and breaking. He excused himself from the officer and jogged over, his large strides making vibrations on the wet ground.

"Rosalie Hale," I told him as soon as he was within earshot, and his expression morphed from confusion to gratitude. He gave me a huge, toothy grin before running back to tell the cop, assuring him that she had no one else near, and insisting again on riding in the ambulance with her.

The EMTs relented at his fourth request, and let him climb in through the back doors before shutting him inside. Feeling an odd sense of relief, I rested my head back against Jasper's shoulder and he squeezed me tight around the middle. I flinched when his hands tried to hold my own, and he pried apart the fingers of my left hand, seeing the bloody splinter still clutched tight in my palm.

"Bella?" he asked, and I shook my head. I couldn't explain it to him right now, not with with everything that had just happened.

A cop made his way over to us from across the street, and I closed my eyes, turning my face in to Jasper's neck, wanting no part in talking with the man. He reminded me of my father, and that only made me hold tighter to the splinter in my palm, the mess of my mother's guitar strewn about my bedroom burned behind my eyelids.

Fresh tears leaked down my cheeks as I tried to keep myself together in Jasper's arms. He calmly answered all of the officer's questions, and was soon shaking me awake, wanting to take me back inside.

"No," I said, groggy but determined not to set foot back in my bedroom.

"Bella?"

"Your house." I looked up at him with pleading eyes and he seemed to understand, nodding and walking me across the lawn to his bungalow in silence.

He took me to his room and stripped me of the robe I'd been wearing, which was soaked and stained from the wet grass. I shivered, naked before him, but he didn't keep me waiting, he clothed me in a warm flannel that fell to my knees, and buttoned me up with patience and small kisses, keeping me calm.

He checked my hand, taking the piece of wood from my palm and placing it where I could see it on the nightstand. He padded off to the bathroom, and came back with a wet towel and Band-Aids in his arms.

"You don't—" I tried to say, but he cut me off.

"Yes, I do."

He cleaned my hand and taped it up before checking my feet for splinters. Thankfully, there were none, just scrapes and dirt, which he wiped away with the wet towel.

"Sleep," he said, lowering me to the bed and laying the covers over me. I pulled at his arms, wanting him next to me but he kissed me silent and shook his head, telling me he'd be back soon.

I wanted to argue but my eyes were closing without my say so, and my mind was shutting down faster than I could fight it. Too much activity, too much stress...my mother's guitar..._gone_.

. . .

I woke to a sense of déjà vu, as I felt Jasper's strong body pressed into my back. I pushed into him, feeling him so present and real, wanting to savor the moment. I'd had both a nightmare and a dream the night before, and blinking at the light streaming in through the blinds, I came to terms with the realization that my mother's guitar had been destroyed and that Rose had nearly died, all within a span of three minutes. I began to question whether being with Jasper had been real. The soft kisses he gave me, and the strong hands that held me as I sat astride him.

Turning to see his face, I found him awake and watching me.

I wanted to ask him if last night had been one strange roller coaster of a dream, but felt foolish in the morning light. He was smiling, gentle and small, the corners of his lips barely curving as he watched me turn to curl into his chest.

We laid there for several minutes in comfortable silence. I selfishly relished the quiet and the solemn feel of the morning, how weighted it all was, and how heavy my limbs were in the bed. The air was warm, but the light was weak, barely pushing past the window blinds. The combination let me fool myself into thinking how peaceful it all seemed, but Jasper's arms giving me a small squeeze of reassurance reminded me that last night was no mere nightmare.

"I have to go down to the police station today," he said, his voice small in the quiet space. I nodded, not wanting to speak. "I don't know how long it'll take, but I want to give you something when I get back."

Curious, I looked up to see him staring down at me.

"What?"

He smiled, though he seemed sad, and my heart twinged in my chest.

"Can I stay here...today?" I asked him, feeling too raw to go home.

"Of course. Though, there's not much food. Maybe some eggs."

"Is there tea?"

He smiled again, and this time there was no melancholy behind his eyes.

"Yeah, there's tea."

.

.

.

* * *

A/N: Thank you so much to FarDareisMai2 for her very quick, and wonderful beta work. *hugs her PF*

This is my Valentine's gift to y'all. :-) I'm sorry for the lack of updates. I do know how the story will end, and it's very quickly coming to a close. This was the last hump of action before the final few chapters. I hope you've enjoyed the ride.

Thanks for reading.


	26. Chapter 26: Tiny Steps

A/N: I'm back! Sorry for the delay. Real a/n at the bottom. For now, enjoy!

* * *

.

.

.

Walking away from Bella that morning was torture. All those romantic notions in my Gram's old books were right; I felt a tug at my chest as soon as I left the bedroom, and it grew as my boots echoed over the floorboards, farther away from my girl tangled in the sheets. I hated leaving her alone, especially after the horrors of last night, but I'd given that damn police officer my word.

As I wrenched open the door to the station, I shook my head, thinking I should just head back and make Bella breakfast or brew her a cup of tea—there was no real point to me being here besides red tape.

Walking into the station house made my balls want to shrink back up into my body after only two steps as I was assaulted by a freezing blast of cold air. The outside August heat was oppressive, but who seriously kept the air on that high?

"Boy."

I looked up, knowing that voice before even seeing the mustache. Chief Swan stood behind the main partition with a coffee in one hand and files in the other, raising an eyebrow at me.

Clearing my throat as I walked forward, I said, "Hull-o, Chief Swan, I'm here to speak with agent Strauss about the accident last night. He told me to come in, in case there were any extra questions."

"He's out today. You can talk to me."

"Oh."

Great.

Ten incredibly stressful minutes later, I was released from Chief Swan's bear claws and sent on my way. He didn't need my telling of the incident past the statement I'd given the night before, and a few extra details the Chief jotted down this morning, which took all of two minutes. The rest of that time, Chief Swan, not so subtly interrogating me about his daughter. All I could focus on the entire time—besides being distracted by the Chief's twitching mustache—was a string of internal musings along the lines of: _your daughter and I had sex last night. . . three times. . . She was on top, straddling me. . . You own a gun. . . It's on your belt right now. . . I slept with your daughter. . . Christ, please don't shoot my dick_—_I love her. _

Then, in the middle of my ridiculous diatribe of silent guilt, a realization hit me: the Chief was worried about his daughter. It was plain as day and so damn obvious I wanted to smack myself for not being more sensitive. He'd seen the reports from last night—of course he would be. He wanted to make sure she was okay. For a second of pure insanity, I wondered if I should suggest he call her, but then I remembered she hated the phone.

No wonder they wrote letters to each other.

After placating the Chief as best I could without giving too much away about how twistedly devoted I was to Bella, he walked me out of the station house and gave my bike a disdainful look when I climbed on.

"Does Bella ride on that thing?"

My mouth went dry while contemplating if I should lie to the father of the woman I loved. . . who happened to carry a gun. Apparently, my silence was all that he needed as he grunted and adjusted the holster on his belt.

Ho shit.

"She better wear a helmet."

"Yes, sir."

Shaking his head, Chief Swan walked away, grumbling under his mustache about wanting to ban all motorbikes from the local roads. As I drove back to Bella and the bungalows, I wondered if he had the jurisdiction to make that happen.

. . .

Standing on the lawn, I studied the patch of wet grass that had been sprayed too hard to wash away Rose's blood. My eyes went wide with the memories, hearing the screech of tires match that of Rose's wails and the sickening thud of skin and bone against metal.

How had everything become this fucked?

Small hands wrapped around my waist, and my eyes closed, shutting out the screams. There was no awkwardness in her embrace, no hesitation or 'day-after' insecurity, and I sighed from the relief of it. Being careful around her would have killed me.

Her cheek pressed to my shoulder blade, and I could feel the warmth of her skin through the thin fabric of my shirt.

"Bella," I whispered.

"There's sweet tea in the kitchen."

I smiled at the gesture, feeling warmed and loved but also hallow in my stomach. Behind me, Bella's belly groaned out its sympathies, and I took her hand in mine and pulled her with me, away from the grass and the porches, down the street towards the ocean.

"Where we going?"

"To get some chow."

Bella's hand tensed in mine, and I tucked her under my arm, holding on tight to her slim shoulders, trying my best to reassure her with everything I had.

"It's early yet and a weekday. Not many people will be around. Don't worry."

She nodded, stiff and strained at my side, but I kept up the pace of my strides nonetheless. It was about time I'd taken this girl out for a meal, and while I didn't consider this a proper date—in fact, my Gram would smack me on the ass for my lack of decorum—it certainly moved us in the right direction.

Tiny steps forward. That's how we did things.

. . .

I gave a sigh of relief as we reached the small cafe along the beach, seeing only a few old men sitting at the makeshift bar inside the opened french doors. I pulled out a chair for Bella at one of the tiny tables on the patio and sat down next to her, so she could rest her head on my shoulder. I enjoyed the feel of her next to me and the silk of her hair sliding down my arm; I certainly wasn't going to complain.

"I haven't been here in. . . ever," Bella said, a note of surprise in her voice.

"Really? But it's so close to the bungalow."

"Yeah, I don't get out much." She looked up at me with a sheepish, knowing expression, and I smiled back at her until the waitress came to take our order.

During the meal she commented on the amount of butter I put on my grits, and I flicked a droplet of moisture at her from my water glass. I gave her a stern look when she pushed away her plate, having eaten barely half her short stack of pancakes, and she poked me in the side for trying to get her to eat another bite.

It was odd being outside and so exposed together. It was different and soothing at the same time.

It was. . . nice. I wanted to repeat it. I told Bella just that, and she agreed with a small nod of her head; my insides jumped at the prospect of taking her out again. The idea of it was more than just a date or a chance to get out of the house. It was a change of routine for Bella, and she willingly accepted it.

Another tiny step forward.

. . .

The lazy, surreal feel of the day lingered as we rocked on the porch swing and looked pointedly away from the dampened patch of grass on the lawn. An odd sort of eerie calm in the air that blew through Bella's hair and tickled at the back of my neck. When the smell of rain came not soon after, I breathed out, accepting the peculiar tension for what it was: weather.

As we walked inside, away from the drizzle coming in off the water, Bella squeezed my hand.

"What were you talking about before?"

"Hmm?" My mind was still stuck outside, watching the oncoming rain.

"This morning. You said you wanted to give me something."

"Oh." I shook my head of its cloudy thoughts and ran a hand through my hair, feeling foolish. "I dunno. . . "

Bella eyed me with knowing wisdom. "Liar."

I snorted and relented, letting go of her hand and walking back out to the porch. "Give me a minute."

Running to my house through the rain, I considered if giving her a gift right now would be extremely stupid or just plain idiotic.

I decided on the latter, since _idiocy_ seemed to always be coupled with _unintentional_, so if she frowned upon my idiotic gesture, as least I had the justification that it wasn't intentionally meant to upset her.

"God, you're an ass."

Great, now I was talking to myself.

Grabbing the case out of the hallway closet, I quickly ran out the back door of my house and dashed across the lawn to Bella's back porch. For a moment, I wondered if I should knock and then I shook my head since I hadn't knocked on Bella's door in months.

What the hell was wrong with me?

"Jasper?"

I looked up and saw Bella standing inside the screen door, her eyebrow arched. She was so cute when she did that.

_Focus. _

"I brought you something," I offered, still standing outside.

"I see that. Did you want to come in?"

"Oh, yeah."

I stepped inside and suddenly felt out of place. God, I was making this awkward. Bella was wringing her hands and biting the hell out of her lip. She hadn't done that so blatantly in weeks.

"Jasper!" She sighed, her eyes closed. "You're freaking me out. What the hell is wrong?"

"Nothing. Uh, let's sit."

She sat down hard at the kitchen table and glared at me. I smiled, trying to lighten the mood.

"This morning, when I said I wanted to give you something. . . " I hedged, lifting the case covered in raindrops and placing it on the table top. "I meant this."

Bella looked at me, confused and apprehensive, but I flipped the clasps and opened the lid, knowing she'd be too nervous to do so herself.

Inside was a Dobro. A beat up ol' bastard I picked up off a bluesman down in Tennessee when I was young and niave, but it was the best slide guitar I'd ever owned and probably ever would.

There was magic inside that guitar.

I knew how many stories it could spout out of its hollowed belly, and I knew how well it would fit into Bella's capable, gentle hands. It was a crowd pleaser and a storyteller, which was what Bella needed: a way to tell her story.

The tarnished, rust-kissed resonator looked almost antique, but there was a beauty to the thing that I hoped Bella would appreciate. The guitar was like her: perfect in its own way, despite how the years and previous owners had abused it. I showed it love and a bit of polish, and it played wonders for me, like I hoped it would for her.

"Do you like it?" I asked, unable to hold back.

Bella nodded, hiding behind her hair. I pushed the strands off one side of her face and saw the tears in her eyes.

"Shit."

Her head snapped up at my curse, and she shook her head. "No, you don't understand—"

"I'm sorry, Bella—"

"No!"

I looked at her then, pale and small before me, cradling the guitar to her chest like a child. She smiled at me, weak but steady, and I held back the regret stinging at the tip of my tongue.

"I love it, Jasper."

"Really?" God, I sounded needy.

She nodded again, a tear slipping down her cheek, and I brought my hands to her face, catching the tear with a brush of my thumb.

"Don't cry, cher."

"I'm not," she said as another tear slid down her pale skin. I kissed that one away with my lips.

As gently as I could, I took the guitar from her hands and rested it on the table as I pulled her to me. Her legs dangled over my thighs, and her arms snuck around my waist as I wrapped her up tight and held her close.

"Thank you," I heard, mumbled into my hair, and I smiled into the dim light of the kitchen as the rain came down around us, feeling like I'd finally done something right by her.

"Love you."

"You too."

.

.

.

* * *

A/N: *sigh* I'm tying things up now. Only a few chapters remain, maybe two.

Big thanks to Mac who beta'd this in record time and took down the nasty passive voice passages with an axe and a flourish. I also learned the meaning of the phrase "comma splice" thanks to her. She really is quite something. *hugs* :-)

Till next time. . . thanks for reading!


	27. Chapter 27: On The Road

A/N: It's here. Judgement day.

Oh no, wait. That's not until Saturday. Whew. We're all safe. Full a/n at the bottom. Enjoy what's below! :-)

* * *

.

.

.

"You got the cooler?" Bella called while leaning over the roof of the car from the passenger side. I gave her a nod and a wave as I ran back inside to grab the damn thing—I'd forgotten it.

Bella made a space on the back seat for the cooler as I hauled it in through the driver's side door. I think our excitement had gotten the better of us since we'd packed it way beyond capacity. Bella smiled at me before sitting down with a plop and a sigh. She sounded so content, eager, it boosted my own anticipation for the trip.

Buckling up, I watched Bella out of the corner of my eye tucking her knees against her chest. Her face glowed in the early morning light coming off the ocean, and I couldn't help it—I leaned in to kiss her skin, tasting her.

"You're sweet."

She blushed.

My hands rested idly on the wheel as I cherished her in that moment. Her hair had brightened to deep red in the sun and her eyelashes turned gold in the light, making her brown eyes pop with reflected color. I'd never seen the girl wear make up, and I knew why: she didn't need it. She was natural and perfect, with a tiny braid nestled in her silken hair—the only adornment I could spot.

She worked at a tangle, pulling it apart and twisting it into another braid in an absentminded way—no doubt waiting for me to start the car.

Right. Driving.

I revved the engine of Peter's old Impala and turned to look at the bungalow one last time. The porch swing seemed lonely without us, but we'd be back to keep it company again one day—just not anytime soon.

"You ready?"

"I'm ready." Bella bounced in her seat and then scooted down into a slouch, getting comfortable for the long drive we had ahead of us. Her bare feet dangled out the window as we rolled out of the dusty driveway. Sand and pebbles kicked up behind us, filling the rear view mirror with nothing but swirls of dust as if the land itself were offering us its farewell.

As we turned onto the street I caught Bella staring out the back window toward Rose's house. Emmett was leaning over in a worn flannel robe, grabbing the paper off the lawn. He waved as we drove past, nodding and attempting to smile, but it turned into a yawn as he stretched his arms high above his head. The domestic image was so drastic a change from the constant horror show Rose had put on the previous summer, I just shook my head and gave the man a friendly nod.

"He's taking good care of her," Bella said.

"Someone needed to."

The irony of their particular situation did not escape Bella and me. The man who'd unintentionally caused Rose's injuries had turned into the man who'd brought her back from the brink of whatever kind of hellish precipice she'd been balancing on. In the past year, the girl had stopped drinking, smoking, and every other damn vice one could think of, with Emmett there to encourage her every step of the way. He had my sympathies and respect in more ways than could be counted.

Bella snuggled down in her seat after waving goodbye to Emmett and pulled out the already-crinkled directions from underneath her thigh.

"I don't know why you insist on using maps. The phone Charlie gave me has GPS."

"Yes, it does, but you've no idea how to use it, do you?"

Bella blushed and shoved my shoulder with a weak hand. I laughed. The girl barely knew how to check her voicemails; I doubted the GPS application would be familiar to her, considering she'd only been using the damn thing for two months.

"It still seems silly," she mumbled.

"Maps are classic. Iconic. You can't deny the image of a tinker with a map in his hands."

Her forehead creased in an adorable way as she looked up at me. I had to remind myself to keep an eye on the road.

"Tinker?" she asked.

"It's what my gram calls travelers,"

Bella's face softened. "I can't wait to meet her."

"You'll love her."

"I know I will. She helped raise you."

Before I could even turn to smile at the girl, she'd rested her head on my shoulder and pressed her warm body into mine. I silently thanked Peter for the couch seat in his old tin can and kicked it into third gear.

It wasn't long before we were officially on the road with nothing but a blank expanse of highway in front of us and the pressure and stress of the past year melting into the background behind us. I had my girl at my side, strong, hot tea in my hand, and about a dozen states to cross ahead of me. Things felt right. I had actual hope in my heart that everything would go well down in Savannah with my grandparents and that maybe a trip to Texas would be in our future.

But first, we'd enjoy the journey. We'd stop at all the dinky tourist traps and take photos next to one of the mile markers for the Appalachain trail, make faces up at the second biggest yarn ball in the world, and eat barbeque at every rundown, roadside shack we could find because that's how one did things on a road trip. Folded maps and getting lost on the way were a given. The experience was the variable, and I planned on making this as memorable as I could for Bella. She'd spent too long cooped up in one little house in a teeny tiny town. It was time she saw a few things.

And for some reason, she'd picked me to be the one to show her—I felt honored by the privilege.

. . .

Water sloshed around us as I made little mountains out of the bubbles floating atop Bella's knees. She shimmed down further into the tub, effectively destroying my twin peaks bubble sculpture, not to mention hiding my view of her own pair.

"Are you uncomfortable?"

She shook her head, her damp, messy bun rubbing against my cheek. I wrapped my arms around her and nuzzled her neck, kissing all the sensitive spots I could find. As I worked my way up to her jaw, I saw a small smile lurking at the corner of her lips.

"What are you thinking about?"

"Tomorrow."

She snuggled against me, curling onto her side and tucking her head under my chin. I held her close, enjoying the peace of the night while remembering the first time we'd shared a bath and how drastically different the circumstances had been. Taking a deep breath, I reminded myself that I'd chosen this life with my eyes open and Bella's love and trust were worth every drop of needless sin I'd given up.

She'd once wanted me to believe she wasn't important enough to love or be counted as anything more than the odd neighbor who kept to herself, but she was wrong. She was worth it. All of it. Every damn fever, every damn shiver, every damn struggle I'd be butting up against for years to come was worth what I'd found with her: this little corner of solitude, surrounded by bubbles and the humidity of a Georgian summer night.

I often wondered when Bella would get sick of my affections, my touches, my endless want to hold her close because I knew it must be overwhelming to a person who'd kept to themselves for so long. But the pure reality of her weight against my body or the press of her palm in my hand was something I'd never tire of because those things had been lost to me when I'd been too busy drowning in the bottom of a bottle. When I was numb to the world, things like the gentle pressure of a woman's body or the feel of calloused fingers never registered to my alcohol-addled brain. Now, I craved and savored those sensations more than I'd ever craved the bottle.

Lifting Bella's hand out of the water, I pressed the softened pads of her fingers to my lips, smiling wide. Tomorrow we'd drive the last leg down to Gram's estate in the heart of Savannah, and Bella would get to taste real sweet tea for the first time. Hopefully, my grandparents would be accepting of my apologies and the new course my life had taken, and the long overdue reconciliation I'd owed them all would begin.

None of it would be easy or comfortable—like the Savannah heat, I knew sometimes it'd be too much to bear—but I had my anchor in my arms. She'd keep me from losing my way with her sweet smiles and her even sweeter tea. And right then, in that small motel room outside the city limits, holding my girl close in a sea of bubbles and foam, I smiled, knowing that was all that mattered.

.

.

.

* * *

A/N: That wasn't too cheesy, was it? I hope not because that, my beloved readers, was the last chapter of Bourbon and Tea. I do want to write an epilogue, as is custom for all twi FF—I don't know where this trend started but I'm following it—so more Bourbon and Tea will be posted one day. I'd love to create Jasper's grandparents and to write Savannah as a setting. I'll probably work on the epi this summer when I have some more free time on my hands, but for now, this is the final curtain. Thank you for reading along and giving me love and support and beautiful reviews throughout the story. I appreciate them all, even if I have yet to respond.

Mac beta'd this chapter and I have to thank her over many, many times for keeping my passive voice to a minimum and killing all my comma splices. (She did not beta this a/n, however, so any mistakes are mine. lol) Chicklette and BeautifulFigment (aka RiRi) were my other main betas for this story. They deserve extreme foozles for being so awesome and supportive of my silly, silly writing. Thanks guys!

For one final time, thank you so much for reading. Hugs to all!

Zigs


End file.
